


i'm sweet wine, but you want whiskey

by amaanogawa



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol, Blow Jobs, Coming Untouched, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Light dom/sub undertones, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Mutual Pining, Overstimulation, Pet Names, Praise Kink, Rimming, Spanking, Sugar Daddy, except more like: kuroo's love language is gift giving and daichi is a poor uni student
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:47:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21565555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaanogawa/pseuds/amaanogawa
Summary: Kuroo likes buying things for Daichi without asking for anything in return. Daichi really wishes he would.By the time the bartender slides a glass of honey amber liquid across the counter, Daichi is acutely aware that the man has turned towards him, gaze heavy under half lidded golden eyes.“Long day?” His mouth quirks at the corners as he traces a graceful finger around the rim of the glass before bringing it to his lips.
Relationships: Kuroo Tetsurou/Sawamura Daichi
Comments: 96
Kudos: 397





	1. Chapter 1

It all started when Daichi’s laptop had died.

In his fourth year of university, 2 months before graduation, in the middle of the night while he was up once again working through yet another thesis-plagued, sleepless night. Daichi had stared at the darkened screen, blinking fatigue from his eyes as he numbly thinks that he must have fallen asleep sometime through the night, because this sequence of events seems awfully similar to the many school related nightmares he’d been having all month.

But then he’d pinched himself and his thigh had  _ hurt _ , and another couple minutes passed in shocked silence before the gravity of the situation hit him all at once.

His laptop was dead, and on his laptop —

All of his lecture notes. His assignments.  _ His thesis _ .

“Oh, no, no, no, no,  _ no _ — ” Daichi had muttered, his voice slowly building into a crescendo as he jumps to his feet and jabs at the power button a few times with just a little bit of desperation. His laptop doesn’t respond, and after a few silent moments of sinking dread Daichi had merely slunked into bed, defeated, too tired to do anything but cling to some semblance of hope that the repair shop will be able to do something when he brings his laptop in the morning.

The shop quoted $600 for diagnostic services and data retrieval, but there wasn’t any way to save the laptop itself, so he’ll need to purchase a new one. Daichi sits at his dinner table later that night, hair mussed with bags under his eyes as he calculates the unexpected cost and all his other living expenses—rent, utilities, internet, phone bill, transit cost,  _ food _ —and deduces that with all the savings he had dutifully built up by being a financially responsible student on top of his next incoming paycheque, he should still be able to make ends meet. 

That is, until an incident breaks out during his next shift as a part time waiter at the local fine dining restaurant—Daichi heard the fear in his coworker’s voice, saw the customer’s hand on her body, and had promptly walked over to yank her behind him, smoke billowing from his nostrils. As things seem to go, he finds out quite quickly that the customer is in fact an influential restaurateur that was invited as the owner’s VIP guest. It didn’t matter that Daichi’s coworker desperately pleaded his case, or that many other customers had seen the restaurateur lay hands on the girl. 

Daichi was out onto the cold, snowy streets within minutes.

“Oh fuck,” Daichi groans, running his hand down his face as he walks home in the cold, jobless, laptopless, and entirely unsure of how the hell he’s supposed to pay his bills next week. “Oh  _ fuck _ —”

He ends up at a random bar for just  _ one _ drink, because either way he’s screwed and a $3 beer isn’t going to make or break his luck. As Daichi glumly sips on his beer, thumb sliding back and forth against the corner of the paper label, he considers the options currently available to him.

There aren’t many, to be honest. 

He can hold off on buying the new laptop and basically live at the computer lab for the next two months but the labs are always booked full around this time. He can find a new job as soon as possible, but between his unaccessible thesis, year-end projects, and studying for finals, he doesn’t have  _ time _ to be working on his resume or attending interviews. As far as other expenses go, he can survive on 60-cent instant noodle packets for as long as his body will tolerate. Worst case scenario, Daichi knows that he can call home to ask his family for help, but his father’s health hasn’t been well as of late and his parents still have to care for the twins, so it’s not a path he’s willing to take unless he truly has no other options available.

It’s right then, between ruminating on the truth of his dire circumstance and his next sip of beer that a man slips lithely onto the bar stool beside him, close enough that Daichi can smell his spice of his cologne.

“Hey, Akaashi,” the man says, a coy smile gracing his face to accompany a silk-smooth voice. “Quiet night in here.”

The bartender nods in greeting as he wipes down the glass in his hands. “Good evening, Kuroo-san. The usual?”

“You know it.”

By the time the bartender slides a glass of honey amber liquid across the counter, Daichi is acutely aware that the man has turned towards him, gaze heavy under half lidded golden eyes. 

“Long day?” His mouth quirks at the corners as he traces a graceful finger around the rim of the glass before bringing it to his lips. “Shame to sully such a pretty face with a frown like that.”

Daichi gives the man a blatant once-over before shrugging, silently taking another swig of his beer. There’s no denying how attractive he is—in fact, if Daichi were being honest, he hits all of Daichi’s buttons in just the right ways. Older, tall, not skinny but  _ lean _ , with broad shoulders that taper down to a thin waist and a head of ridiculous hair that somehow works even though it shouldn’t. If it were another day and Daichi had the leisure to be thinking about anything other than how the hell he was going to keep a roof over his head by the end of the month, he probably would feel a little more interested.

“Yikes.” The man clicks his tongue, and Daichi can’t decide whether the sympathy is real or forced at this point. “That bad, huh?”

“I’ve had better days,” Daichi admits, downing the rest of his beer before setting it down on the counter with a sense of finality. He moves to stand, fully intending on heading home to wallow in bed before he’s forced to assume crisis mode, when the man raises a finger at the bartender.

“Akaashi, another beer for my new friend here please.”

Daichi frowns, arm already halfway into his coat sleeve. “Oh, that’s not—”

“Let me buy you a drink. The least I can do as a fellow human being is to buy a beer for someone who’s going through a rough time.” 

The man’s smile is kind and to Daichi’s surprise, genuine. Though hesitatingly, Daichi slowly removes his coat and replaces it on the back of his chair before sitting back down.

“Thank you,” Daichi says, returning a small smile as he accepts the beer from the bartender. Maybe the smarter thing to do would be to head home considering all the problems he has at hand, but the day has been long and an attractive stranger is kindly offering to buy him a drink and well—Daichi’s still only human, after all.

“Well, cheers to a better night.” When the stranger lifts his glass to bring it together with Daichi’s beer bottle, Daichi decides that he quite likes the way the man’s hair flops over to one side to cover his right eye. He’d been on the fence about it at first, but now he finds himself wondering what it would feel like to brush the man’s hair out of his face, and how his handsome features would look in the ambient bar lighting if it were unobstructed. 

They clink glasses. “I’m Sawamura,” Daichi says before bringing the bottle to his lips. “Daichi.”

“Sawamura-kun,” the man repeats, a hint of mischief on his face. “I’m Kuroo.”

Time drags on past the single beer and onto a third and fourth as Kuroo listens intently to Daichi’s series of unfortunate events. Conversation flows easily between them and the more Daichi talks the better he feels—though he isn’t quite sure whether it’s the beer or the way that Kuroo is smiling at him that’s making everything seem just a bit softer around the edges. 

“Your cheeks are red.” Kuroo grins, leaning in suddenly to press the backs of his fingers gently against Daichi’s burning cheek. 

Up close, it’s hard to miss how flecks of gold-copper-bronze illuminate like a flash of light in Kuroo’s eyes, and it makes Daichi flush even more as he moves to pull away. 

“Sorry,” Daichi murmurs. He’s not sure  _ why _ he’s apologizing but it seemed like the right thing to do when his cheek is still tingling like he’d just been electrocuted by the mere touch of Kuroo’s fingers. The line between something feeling wrong and feeling  _ so right _ is a fine one, Daichi realizes, because between the way his cheek is burning and the way Kuroo’s fingers linger for a moment longer before he pulls back, Daichi truly can’t tell which he feels.

“Don’t be.” Kuroo’s grin softens to something smaller and more fond than teasing. “It’s cute.”

Suddenly the temperature of the air around them seems to rise even though Daichi had been perfectly comfortable a minute earlier, and he can’t help but let his gaze flicker towards Kuroo’s mouth before clearing his throat, his face and ears feeling increasingly hotter.

“I, uh—” Kuroo is unfairly good looking and he smells really good and Daichi is more than tempted to follow the rabbit to see where this night could end up, especially in the haze of his half-empty fifth beer. But he has so many more important things to be thinking about other than how long Kuroo’s eyelashes are, or how enticing the curve of Kuroo’s collar bones look from where they’re peeking out through the hem of his sweater. “I should get going, I guess.”

“I’m headed out too, actually. My ride’s waiting outside, we can drop you off at your place.” Kuroo stands from his chair as he throws a fifty dollar bill down onto the counter. “Thanks, Akaashi. Tell Bokuto he still owes me a bottle of Macallan 18 from our last bet, will you? He can’t hide forever, damnit.” 

“Please stop goading Koutarou into bets, Kuroo-san. At this rate we’ll be closed for business before the year is up."  Kuroo laughs, tossing an easy wave over his shoulder before placing a hand on the small of Daichi’s back and leading him towards the door.

“U-uhm, I don’t live far, so—” Daichi starts, feeling oddly fidgety like Kuroo’s fingers are burning right through his thick winter coat from where they’re laid gently on his waist. Kuroo gives him a look as he opens the door for Daichi, gesturing with his arm to allow Daichi to step out first before following suit. 

“You’re young, you’ve been drinking, and it’s late. It’ll weigh on my conscience if I just let you walk off into the night by yourself.” The winter wind bites into Daichi’s skin when they step onto the street, and Kuroo heads straight for a black car parked by the side of the road to open the door to the backseat. “I won’t force you, of course. But it’s really no trouble.”

Daichi chews on his bottom lip, first staring down the dark, deserted street towards home, and then back to Kuroo standing patiently with the car door open. This breaks just about every stranger danger rule that Daichi has ever been taught. Suga would be appalled—or worse, he’d  _ approve _ . 

But well, it’s cold, and he  _ is _ exhausted. 

He shrugs, once again giving in to Kuroo’s kindness. “Okay. Thank you.” 

Kuroo slides into the backseat after him as Daichi leans forward to tell the driver his address. The car is warm and smells like the cinnamon of Kuroo’s cologne, both of which are infinitely more preferable to the snowy, freezing air outside. His decision to stop in at a random bar close to his work had been a spontaneous one, but after the series of unfortunate events that have transpired in the past few days, Daichi can’t help but feel like it was the first good choice he’d made all week. He feels himself melt into the comfy leather seat as he turns his head to look lazily out the window at the snow swirling in the night sky, only visible under the glow of the street lights passing one by one. The sight is relaxing, and becomes almost a lull as he feels his body getting heavier and heavier.

The next thing he knows, he’s being jostled gently by the shoulder and a voice is in his ear, speaking softly.

“Sawamura-kun?”

“Mm…?” Daichi blinks the sleep out of his eyes, feeling fuzzy around the edges. Whatever he had been leaning against wasn’t the comfiest pillow as it was hard and jabbed into his side of his head almost painfully. He peers up towards the voice, suddenly coming face to face with a pair of pretty golden eyes, half lidded and gazing down at him.

“Sorry to wake you, darling. We’re here.”

For a moment Daichi stares back groggily, confused, and then it all clicks very quickly. Getting fired. The bar. Five beers. A ride home.

_ Kuroo _ .

“Oh, shit — ” He jolts up straight, realizing that the uncomfortable pillow he’d been leaning against was Kuroo’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Kuroo chuckles, looking amused at Daichi’s panic. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You’ve had a long day.”

Daichi hesitates. After everything, he isn’t quite sure what he’s supposed to do in this situation —s hould he ask for Kuroo’s number? Would that be too forward? Maybe he’d been reading Kuroo’s signals all wrong and Kuroo wasn’t interested in him in that way at all. After all, Kuroo hasn’t made any real advances throughout the night and genuinely just seems like a kind person, and Daichi doesn’t have the time nor the mental capacity to be pursuing anything at this point in time anyway. 

“Thank you for the drinks. And for the ride. And for listening to me gripe all night.” 

He decides to leave it up to Kuroo, holding his breath slightly as he waits to see what Kuroo will do.

“It was my pleasure. Hurry in and rest well, okay?”

It’s undeniably  _ disappointment _ that throbs in Daichi’s chest as Kuroo simply smiles at him, making no move to ask for his contact information or arrange for a rendezvous in the future. Though Daichi had been adamant since the beginning of the night that he didn’t have time to humour a random handsome stranger at the bar, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t interested in  _ the _ handsome stranger he’d gotten to know over the past couple of hours.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t interested in  _ Kuroo,  _ with his moonlit eyes and whip sharp grins.

“Have a good night, then. Thank you again.” Daichi smiles, opening the door to slide out from the inviting warmth of the car and into the freshly fallen snow. He shuts the door behind him, moving to make the short trudge from the car to the entrance of his apartment building.

When he reaches the door and looks back, Kuroo is still there, tilting his head slightly with a fond smile on his face. He raises his brows with an exasperated expression when Daichi makes no move to go in, lifting his hand into a small ‘shoo’ gesture to usher Daichi in before turning to say something to his driver. 

The car pulls away into the night.

Daichi collapses into bed a short while later, the world curling pleasantly around him as he hovers right on the precipice of sleep. Distantly, he realizes that he can still smell Kuroo’s cologne on his own skin from when he’d unintentionally been nestled into the crook of Kuroo’s neck. 

He turns, burying his face into his pillow, and falls asleep within the span of a single breath.

\---

Days pass and contrary to what the cheesy romantic movies that Suga forces him to watch would lead him to believe, Daichi doesn’t magically run into Kuroo due to some stroke of luck or fate.

Admittedly his mind can’t help but stray towards Kuroo a few times, but there isn’t any opportunity or excuse for him to return to the bar which is the only connection he and Kuroo have. Other far more pressing issues are at hand anyway, and over the next couple days Daichi finds that he doesn’t have the leisure of daydreaming about handsome men when he all but moves into the campus computer lab, working late into the night and returning early in the morning to guarantee a spot. In between completing assignment after assignment he also fixes up his resume and tries not to pull his hair out at the thought of enduring yet another arduous process of applying and going through interviews and then learning the ropes at a new job all over again—but, well, rent won’t pay itself. Sawamura Daichi is nothing if not tenacious during perilous times though he can’t, however, deny that the string of late nights and even earlier mornings begin to take a toll on his energy levels as the days drag on, and after one particularly frustrating day of making little to no progress on his thesis, he collapses into bed without even bothering to change into pajamas. 

In the morning, Daichi wakes suddenly with two immediate realizations striking him at once. 

One, he definitely neglected to set an alarm last night and is currently missing his morning lecture. 

Two, someone is knocking at the door.

He groans, forcing himself to sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed before standing up groggily, making the slow shuffle from his bedroom to the front door. By the time he cracks his door open, the delivery man had already turned to leave and was halfway down the hallway when he notices Daichi’s head poking out from behind his door.

“Oh! Are you Sawamura Daichi-san?” The delivery man chirps, turning on his heel to walk back with a large box in his arms. “Perfect timing. Could you sign here, please?”

Daichi furrows his brows at the parcel, accepting the electronic signature pad that’s handed to him as he scribbles his signature on the screen. He hadn’t been expecting any packages. The only possibility he could imagine would be a surprise care package from his parents, but even so, the box looks too large for that. He mumbles his thanks to the delivery man and takes the package into his arms, nudging the front door shut with his hip before heading into the kitchen. He sets the box down on the counter, wandering over to grab the scissors from the drawer to slice the blade neatly into the packing tape.

When Daichi pries the flaps of the box open, his breath leaves him like a punch to the chest at the sight of what’s inside.

A brand new laptop, still inside its packaging, carefully nestled within some foam packing peanuts.

The scissors clatter to the floor and Daichi takes a step back, eyes widening as he takes a moment to process the sight before him. He hadn’t told anyone about his current predicament . Not his parents, not even his closest friends, because he didn’t want them to worry or do anything drastic in an attempt to help.

He didn’t want  _ this _ .

There’s only one person who knows, and Daichi can’t possibly begin to fathom why on earth that person would think to do something like this. Had Daichi really seemed so pathetic, so desperate that a complete stranger had felt compelled to treat him like a charity? Once again the thought of Kuroo and the way he’d looked under the red-tinted lighting of the bar makes Daichi’s face burn —but this time with shame. Handsome, dignified, suave Kuroo. The entire time Daichi had mistaken his pity for interest, when in fact Kuroo must have thought of him as nothing more than a lost puppy that needed someone to take care of it.

He doesn’t have Kuroo’s contact information, or know anything about him other than the fact that he goes to that bar semi-regularly—enough to have a usual order and know the bartender by name, at least. Daichi approaches the counter, glaring down at the box and its contents before shutting the flaps of the box roughly, the pit of his stomach alight with fury. He doesn’t have  _ time _ for this. There’s too much shit on his plate for him to be standing around feeling sorry for himself. Before he goes losing his head to his rampant emotions he needs to take care of his more pressing responsibilities first—namely, to make damn sure he can graduate at the end of the term—and then he’ll decide what to do with Kuroo.

He gets ready for the day, taking a quick shower, brushing his teeth and throwing on clean clothes before grabbing his bac kpack and heading out to the campus computer labs. By sheer luck he manages to snag a seat despite his late start and spends the day working on his thesis, not even bothering to take a break for lunch in case someone snatches his seat while he’s gone. Focusing on his thesis means that he has no mental faculties to spend thinking about the package that’s waiting for him at home, or the cheshire smile of the mysterious stranger he’d met a few nights before. 

The sun has long set and Daichi quickly finds himself wilting after an entire day of typing away in the uncomfortable computer lab chair. He saves his work onto his external hard drive and packs his things, standing to take a quick stretch before hurrying out of building. 

When he arrives home, he faces the package sitting on his counter with his hands on his hips, pondering it over for a few silent moments before nodding decisively to himself, reaching out to take it into his arms and walking right back out of his apartment. 

It’s sheer luck that Kuroo is at the bar when Daichi arrives, though Daichi had been prepared to wait for him there every night until he showed up. Even from behind there’s no mistaking the head of wild hair or the trim body under it sitting elegantly at the bar, chatting with the same bartender that had been working the night Daichi had been there. Some flash of anger or pride or whatever it is surges through Daichi’s body at the sight of Kuroo and it gives him the courage to storm over, his head held high. 

“This was your doing, wasn’t it?” Daichi sets the box on the bar counter indignantly, folding his arms across his chest and doing his best not to show that his blood is running hot in his veins. The worst part is how Kuroo looks pleased with himself, as if he’d really thought that Daichi would be happy to receive such a donation. 

“Oh hello Sawamura-kun.” Kuroo smiles, tilting his head to gaze up at Daichi sweetly. “I was hoping I’d get to see you again.”

“Take it back, please.” If Daichi could set fire to the air with his glare alone, he’d do it. He digs his nails into his arms and tightens them across his body before taking a step back. “I don’t need it. Thank you.”

The way Kuroo goes stock still as he blinks quizzically in the face of Daichi’s anger could almost be comical if the situation weren’t as it is. A few moments of tense silence passes before he turns to the bartender, speaking slowly. “I guess he didn’t like my gift, ‘Kaashi.” 

The bartender, Akaashi, looks very much like he’s trying hard not to roll his eyes when he sighs. “I did tell you it was a bad idea.”

“I just wanted to  _ help _ ,” Kuroo protests. “Why does everyone always suspect that I’m up to something?”

“Because normal people don’t usually drop two grand on a laptop for a stranger?” Daichi interjects, raising his brows incredulously. “I apologize if it at all seemed like I was asking for a donation the other night. That wasn’t my intention.”

“A donation?” The shock that lines Kuroo’s voice and features seems genuine. He leans back in his chair, waving his hands in front of him a little frantically. “No, no, Sawamura-kun. I really just wanted to help someone who seemed like he was getting the short end of the stick more often than he deserved. This was in no way out of pity — I admire you very much, you know.”

This time it’s Daichi’s turn to be surprised. Kuroo, the older, clearly wealthy, upstanding gentleman — admire him? An exhausted, broke, struggling student? “What? Why on earth — ”

“You work hard. You’re smart. You’re brave. You’re earnest. You’re a good son. You help those in need. Isn’t that enough of a reason to like you? God knows I face lesser people every day. You’re a rare one, Sawamura-kun.”

The words  _ like you _ said so straightforwardly makes Daichi flush, perhaps more from surprise than anything, and he knows it’s not lost to Kuroo with the way Kuroo’s eyes narrow like a cat hunting its prey. There’s that Cheshire smile again, spreading beautifully across Kuroo’s handsome face. Distantly Daichi wonders if a time will come when he doesn’t perpetually feel like Kuroo knows something he doesn’t. 

“And do you...just buy lavish gifts for every passerby that you happen to  _ like _ ?” 

The air quotations around  _ like  _ are heavily implied. 

“Well sure, I bought Akaashi here a watch, isn’t that right ‘Kaashi?” Kuroo purrs, leaning his chin on his palm with a smirk, peering over at the bartender lazily. “ _ Which he never wears _ , by the way. How very hurtful.”

“Though I’m very appreciative of your generosity, no bartender with an ounce of sense would think to wear _a_ _Rolex_ at work. I’m not particularly looking to get mugged, Kuroo-san.”

“Anyway,” Kuroo continues with a dismissive flick of his wrist, which makes Daichi inclined to believe that they’ve had that same conversation many times before, “Sawamura-kun, I’m very sorry if the laptop made you feel uncomfortable. I’ll take it back if you insist, but considering your situation, wouldn’t it be better if you just took it? I promise I don’t want anything in return . We can sign a legal document to free you of any liability if you’d like. But I assure you, I only have good intentions.”

“Legal document? No, I—“ He can’t possibly accept it. He  _ can’t _ . Why would he? Nevermind the fact that he doesn’t even know Kuroo, Daichi doesn’t exactly trust him, either. He doesn’t need Kuroo’s help. “I can’t. I’ll figure something out on my own.”

“You look exhausted, darling.” Kuroo says suddenly, his brows furrowed with concern as he reaches out to place his hand against Daichi’s forehead, feeling for fever. “Have you eaten today?”

Daichi bristles, torn between flinching away and pressing closer. He’s not used to this —being on the receiving end of such open affection. Between being an older brother to two rowdy twins with busy parents and being the team captain of a group of even rowdier team mates, he’d always been the one to check when others last ate and if others were sick. His guard is up, his suspicions darkening as he wonders why on earth Kuroo even  _ cares _ .  “That’s not — ” 

“Is it that hard to believe you deserve someone’s kindness?” 

The question takes Daichi off guard. He balks, brows raising as he considers the question. 

“I can take care of myself,” he says finally. “I don’t even know you.”

“I never said you couldn’t, but that doesn’t mean you need to go through hard times alone.” Kuroo’s smile is sad as he pulls his hand back. “And I’d very much like to get to know you better, Sawamura-kun. If you’d let me.”

Daichi’s head is spinning with disbelief and shock alike. Under the soft scrutiny of Kuroo’s gaze, it’s hard to be as guarded as he feels like he should be right now. Daichi’s used to taking on all the responsibility by himself, used to bearing whatever weight necessary to get the job done. In highschool he practiced 4 days a week, led his team to nationals and blew everyone’s low expectations for them out of the water, got into a good university, and then continues to maintain his grades and work to pay for his education all at the same time. It’s almost second nature by now to assume he has to do it all alone.

“Then why didn’t you ask for my contact info the other night?” He blurts suddenly, uncharacteristically impulsive. There’s no denying to himself that he’d been  _ disappointed _ at how he and Kuroo had left off, but the way Kuroo had just let him go without a second thought and Kuroo’s current insistence of his fondness for Daichi just don’t seem to add up.

Kuroo raises his brows, eyes wide as he blinks owlishly in the face of Daichi’s question.

“I didn’t think you wanted me to ask,” he says, tilting his head after a brief moment of silence. “After I bought you drinks all night and offered you a ride home I thought if you didn’t reciprocate the interest, I’d respect your space and settle with sending you my sentiments. But then you just left, so...”

They stare at each other, seconds ticking by as Daichi’s face gets progressively redder and he finally falters, covering his burning cheeks with the back of his arm. Kuroo looks taken aback by Daichi’s reaction for a split moment before visibly making the connection in his mind, and Daichi is acutely aware that he’s done for when Kuroo leans in, lips curving into a wicked smirk with all the fake sweetness of poisoned honey dripping from his voice.

“Oho?” He lilts, eyes half lidded and glimmering. “Was Sawamura-kun disappointed when I didn’t ask for his number, I wonder? Hmm?”

“N-no, I —“ The stutter makes Daichi wince. He takes a breath, determined not to let Kuroo win one over him. “I—“

“Sawamura-kun,“ he cuts in, clearly enjoying the banter. The grin Kuroo gives him is toothy and boyish, almost misplaced on his handsome face as he perches his chin on his hand. “Could I please get your number?”

“No,” Daichi grumbles immediately, turning away with an open scowl on his face as he folds his arms back across his chest. 

The cold response doesn’t do much to deter Kuroo, who merely laughs and glances cheerily back at Akaashi. “Looks like I’ve been rejected, ‘Kaashi.”

“Kindly refrain from involving me in your mess, Kuroo-san.”

“Sheesh, you both really know how to wound a guy. I’m crying over here.”

It takes a moment for Daichi to shake himself out of his annoyance and remember why he’s here in the first place. He eyes the laptop while Kuroo and Akaashi bicker in the background, and tries to consider his situation more objectively—spending the entire day at the computer lab today, unable to leave for so much as a bathroom break because of the students breathing down his neck waiting for his spot is  _ very _ uncomfortable, not to mention impractical. Not needing to worry about buying a new laptop means he has at least another month of rent, which gives him time to finish his thesis, take his exams, and then worry about finding another job. His instincts are telling him that Kuroo is being genuine with his altruism, though Daichi still can’t fathom  _ why _ . 

But if that’s the case, maybe he can accept some help while still being responsible for his own situation.

“I’ll pay you back,” Daichi pipes up, catching both Kuroo and Akaashi’s attention. “For the laptop. Just give me a bit of time, please. But I will pay you back.”

Kuroo furrows his brows, a frown already spreading across his face as he goes to speak. “There’s no ne—”

“I’ll pay you back.” The insistence in Daichi’s voice is strong enough that Kuroo stops, holding Daichi’s defiant gaze for a moment before letting out a huff.

“That defeats the entire purpose of the gift, darling. But if it’s the only way you’ll accept the damn thing then so be it.”

Daichi sighs in relief, grateful that Kuroo would be kind enough to humour him even though he clearly doesn’t need or want the money. Perhaps he’s being unnecessarily stubborn, and maybe it would be easier for the both of them if he just took the laptop as a gift, the way it was intended to be given, but this arrangement certainly makes him more comfortable.

“...Thank you, Kuroo-san,” Daichi says, offering a small smile. “I appreciate it.”

For the first time it’s Kuroo’s turn to look flustered, and there may even be a hint of a blush on his cheeks that makes Daichi feel oddly triumphant. It’s a relief to see even this small crack in Kuroo’s seemingly impervious cool face, and at the same time it makes Daichi want to see all the other sides of Kuroo too. He wants to know more about Kuroo, but he isn’t sure if he’s allowed to ask, or how much he’s allowed to know.

“Well, I should get going, then.” Daichi clears his throat, awkwardly gathering the box back into his arms. “Thank you, again. And I apologize for making a fuss, Akaashi-san.”

Akaashi offers him a kind smile, but it’s Kuroo who speaks next.

“Wait, Sawamura-kun.” He stands, grabbing his coat off the rack next to the bar and shrugs it on. “Care to join me for a bite to eat? You can put the laptop in my car and then I’ll drive you home after.”

“Drive? Haven’t you been drinking?”

“No, I came just to chat with Akaashi-kun today.” Kuroo turns, batting his lashes dramatically at Akaashi, who gives him a deadpan stare in return. He takes the box from Daichi’s arm without asking and waves off the beginnings of Daichi’s protests. “Bye then, ‘Kaashi. I’ll see you at Yaku’s on Friday.”

“Have a good night, Kuroo-san, Sawamura-kun.”

Daichi dips his head politely as they leave, taking the chance to gaze curiously at Akaashi for a prolonged moment even after he starts walking. Akaashi certainly makes good company for Kuroo. He’s as beautiful a man as Daichi has ever seen—long limbs with milky skin and thick, full lashes, and there’s a definite gracefulness in the way he moves. Though Daichi is aware that it’s none of his business, Daichi can’t help but wonder what their history is.

“You and Akaashi-san seem close,” he muses, hoping that the observation doesn’t seem too pointed.

But Kuroo only hums, a small smile on his lips as he opens the door for Daichi even though he’s already carrying the large box, ever the gentleman, motioning for Daichi to go first before stepping through himself. “Oh sure, we go way back. We met in high school at a training camp.”

“Training camp?”

For some reason Daichi can’t seem to imagine a young, fresh faced Kuroo in a black  _ gakuran,  _ dedicating his evenings to practice or algebra homework. He wonders how Kuroo spent his lunch breaks, what kind of friends Kuroo walked home with, and whether he was the studious type or if he was a slacker. 

“Volleyball.” Kuroo’s voice dips a little at the word and in the moonlight, his face looks unusually soft as if he were replaying fond memories of an old lover. 

“Really? I play volleyball too.” This similarity between the two of them is so unexpected that they both lapse into a single, silent moment of shock, staring at each other with parted lips until Kuroo’s face lights up.

“No way, you did? What position?” 

“W-wing spiker...” Daichi says, blinking at Kuroo’s sudden excitement. The more he learns about Kuroo, the more faces of Kuroo that he sees, the more he realizes that Kuroo isn’t as easy to decipher as he first comes off. Had they never met again after they parted ways the other night, Daichi might have always believed he was just a suave, expensive scotch-drinking elite that Daichi had absolutely nothing in common with. But watching the way Kuroo’s eyes sparkle in the dim lighting as he talks animatedly about volleyball, Daichi realizes that first impressions are rarely accurate. 

They end up at McDonald’s, because Kuroo had wanted to take Daichi to a nice restaurant and Daichi had promptly dug his heels into the ground, cheeks already puffing at the idea. Kuroo orders a filet-o-fish combo, bemusedly watching as Daichi orders enough burgers to feed a small army before he then promptly swoops in to tap his credit card against the machine before Daichi has a chance to react. 

Daichi balks, and then he  _ glares _ , standing in front of the kiosk with his hand halfway out of his pocket to pay, and the only thing that manages to quell his temper is the satisfaction of Kuroo paling a little in the face of his fury. After all, it’s relieving to know that even Kuroo isn’t as impervious as he seems.

“You can get it next time,” he swallows behind his sheepish grin, putting his palms up in surrender. “I promise, okay?”

Grabbing his receipt, Daichi throws a loud and petulant  _ hmph _ over his shoulder, turning on his heel to march up to the counter to get their food, quietly hoping that Kuroo doesn’t notice his burning cheeks at the insinuation of  _ next time. _

The rest of the night is seemingly unextraordinary—only it’s not, because there is nothing unextraordinary about the way Kuroo’s eyes crinkle at the corners when he tilts his head backwards to laugh, loud and unabashed and so ugly that it’s attractive with some strange, twisted train of logic. Kuroo eats his fries sans ketchup, one at a time, and gets iced tea to drink. He likes to lean his cheek against his hand, his smile soft as if he genuinely enjoys listening to Daichi’s stupid story about the time Suga had set off the sprinklers in his building trying to make cookies and miraculously came out of it with a boyfriend. It’s kind of a boring story for someone who doesn’t know Suga personally, but Kuroo cackles and snorts and comments in all the right places regardless. 

After they finish Kuroo drives Daichi back to his apartment as promised. He keeps one hand on the steering wheel and the other perched on the center console, fingers drumming lightly on the black leather. When they reach the entrance of Daichi’s apartment, Kuroo turns to him, lips quirked up in a way that makes Daichi want to wipe it off his face, though he hasn’t yet decided on what method he wants to implement to do so.

“Sawamura-kun,” Kuroo says then, the syllables of Daichi’s name rolling smoothly off his tongue as he clearly stifles the urge to laugh. “Can I get your number?”

Daichi, in turn, doesn’t stifle the urge to roll his eyes, but he does prattle off the string of numbers for Kuroo to enter into his phone.

“Thank goodness,” he lilts, eyes sliding from his smartphone screen up to meet Daichi’s gaze. “I don’t know what I would have done if you’d rejected me a second time.”

“You still have yet to find out if it’s my real number or not,” Daichi deadpans, reaching into the backseat to tug the laptop box into his lap as he pointedly ignores the way Kuroo puts his hand to his chest in mock offense. Kuroo fiddles with his phone again, decisively tapping the screen a few times with his thumb before putting it to his ear and on cue, Daichi’s phone begins to ring from his pocket.

“Ahh, you’re all bark and no bite, Sawamura-kun.” Kuroo chides, ending the call with a wink. “There, now that I’ve put that fear to rest, you should head inside. Sleep early, okay?”

In a sudden moment of impulsivity, Daichi finds the confidence to tilt his chin up haughtily as he raises a brow.

“What, no goodnight kiss?”

He’d been expecting more of the lighthearted banter that had become commonplace between the two of them over the last few hours, but what he receives instead is Kuroo’s gaze hot on his skin, his eyes going half lidded with scorching intensity as he reaches out to curl his fingers against the nape of Daichi’s neck, leaning in without another word.

The temperature inside rises several degrees from one second to the next and it smells strongly of cinnamon and new leather. Daichi closes his eyes half out of instinct and half out of shock, waiting with bated breath for the press of Kuroo’s lips against his own.

Only it never comes, and Kuroo is pulling away again just as suddenly as he came.

“Young ones have such a mouth on them these days,” Kuroo quips exasperatedly, reaching forward to flick his index finger lightly against Daichi’s forehead. “Don’t tease your elders, Sawamura-kun. Hurry on in now.”

Daichi blinks in surprise, flushing red as he shakily hugs the box to his chest.

“R-right,” he says, all the defiance that he’d had moments earlier fizzling into nothingness. “Thank you for the ride.”

“Mm,” Kuroo hums. His smile is unfairly lovely bathed in the soft lighting of his dashboard. “Sweet dreams, darling.”

The car doesn’t pull away until Daichi enters his building. He makes it all the way to his apartment, allowing his front door to click shut behind him before he lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, knees buckling under him as he slides to the floor, his heart pounding in his chest.

Long story short, it takes just two nights for Daichi to learn that there isn’t anything unextraordinary about Kuroo at all, and he’s doubtful that this opinion is set to change within the foreseeable future.

With the image of Kuroo, eyes half-lidded and lips parted, leaning in smelling of warm cinnamon fresh in Daichi’s mind, he can’t imagine it being any other way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter has explicit content so please mind the tags! enjoy! :>

“Woah, when did you get a new laptop?”

Daichi glances up from his thesis to find Suga standing over his shoulder with his lips pursed, twirling the spare key to Daichi’s apartment around and around on his finger. It’s a question that Daichi doesn’t know how to answer without Suga immediately hurtling himself into _sirens-blaring_ mode the way that Suga tends to do, because Daichi really doesn’t have the time or the energy right now to deal with it. The cursor blinks on the screen as if reminding him just how much work he has left to do as he shuts his laptop with a sigh. Getting any work done might as well be a pipe dream with Suga looking increasingly like a bloodhound who just caught whiff of his intended target.

“It was a gift,” he says, trying to be nonchalant about it, but he can feel the sweat beading on the back of his neck under Suga’s blank stare like a sinner in a confessional—although the mere thought of likening Suga to a priest is enough to make Daichi want to roll his eyes. 

“Daichi, that laptop is like, nearly three grand. It isn’t even out on the market yet,” Suga says, placing his hands on his hips as he dubiously raises an elegant brow. It’s in that exact moment when Daichi remembers, belatedly, that Suga’s new boyfriend works at an electronics store. He winces at his slip-up, slowly shifting in his seat to meet Suga’s suspicious gaze.

There’s no way around it. The more he tries to get out of this, the more it’ll hurt in the end when Suga inevitably finds out anyway.

“Okay, fine,” he says, sighing around his words. “I’ll tell you—but _don’t_ get carried away or I swear to god, Suga.”

It’s an empty threat, not to mention completely ineffective. Suga bats his eyelashes, plopping into the seat across from Daichi and cushioning his chin in his hands with a wide smile. That glint in his eyes never means anything good—Daichi has been on the receiving end of it and reaped the subsequent consequences enough times that it prompts him to lean back in his seat with an audible _gulp_ as Suga leans forward. His eyes squint at the corners as he coos, “please, Sawamura. When have I ever gotten carried away with anything?”

Oh, Daichi is so fucked. 

Begrudgingly, he starts from the beginning and watches as Suga’s eyes get bigger and bigger the more he recounts of the events over the past couple of days—his old laptop kicking the bucket, losing his job, and then meeting Kuroo at the bar. By the time he reaches the part where Kuroo almost kissed him before pulling away at the last minute, Suga’s eyes are so wide he looks comical, like he’s mere moments away from blowing a blood vessel.

Daichi ends the story, feeling slightly breathless as he pinches his lips shut and feels his insistent flush spread all the way down his neck.

A silence settles over them as Suga tries to find his words, opening his mouth and then just as quickly closing it again, making his best impression of a fish before he sits back in his seat, bringing both his hands together in front of his face. Taking a deep breath, he presses the tips of his fingers together, his words coming out slow and clipped.

“You—”

“Don’t say it _._ ”

“ _You_ —”

“Don’t say it!” 

“Sawamura Daichi has a sugar daddy. Oh my _god_ —”

Daichi groans, slumping forward to bury his face in his arms. “I do _not_ ,” he says rather unconvincingly into his sleeve, “that’s not what this is! We’re… friends. I think.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, _friends,_ ” Suga snorts, making air quotations with his fingers next to his head. It’s a dramatic enough reaction that it manages to make Suga look unattractive for once in his life, which brings Daichi some smug satisfaction as he peeks over his forearms, thoroughly unimpressed with Suga’s sarcasm. “Last I checked, I don’t have a ridiculously rich and sexy older man showering me with material goods in the name of _friendship_. Let me know when you find out where I can get one, yeah?”

The glare Daichi shoots him is poisonous, but his threat is lukewarm at best. “I’m going to tell your boyfriend.”

“Do it,” Suga sniffs primly, nose high in the air. “If he really loves me he’d want me to be happy.”

“Your happiness is too easily bought, Sugawara Koushi. For shame.”

“But seriously, Daichi—” The look on Suga’s face turns inquisitive as he leans forward onto his elbows, reaching out to run a light hand over the shiny backing of Daichi’s new laptop. “What’s his endgame, you think? He isn’t secretly a creep or something, is he? If he pulls anything I swear, I’ll rip out his nose hairs one by one and feed them to him.”

As if that isn’t the question that has been plaguing Daichi’s thoughts since the first night he met Kuroo under that warm honey lighting. _What’s his endgame_ , indeed. There is still so much about Kuroo that Daichi doesn’t know, and it seems too soon to be sure about Kuroo’s intentions. A little hesitation is probably warranted considering the circumstances but even still, Daichi doesn’t like the guilt that comes with suspecting Kuroo despite the kindness he’s been shown.

“Daichi?” 

He’s jolted out of his thoughts when Suga tugs on his sleeve, his brown eyes soft with an unsaid question. A fond warmth bubbles up to replace the exasperation in Daichi’s chest as he smiles, reaching out to pat Suga’s hand. “Your strangely specific acts of violence are very sweet. Thanks.” 

Suga stares at him for a moment longer as if deciding whether or not he should pry, but seems to decide against it as he withdraws and folds his arms across his chest. “More importantly,” he says slowly, a mischievous smile spreading across his delicate face, “I think the question is, what do _you_ want from him?”

Another very good question. There are a few of those that Daichi doesn’t have an answer for, it seems. 

Daichi thinks about the smell of Kuroo’s cologne, spicy cinnamon tickling the back of his throat and the hot curl of undeniable _want_ that’d coiled in the pit of his stomach as Kuroo had leaned in, dark lashes fanning out across his cheeks. Kuroo’s lips had been parted, looking pink and soft and Daichi had closed his eyes hoping that he’d feel them against his own. That had certainly been what he wanted in the moment.

But now? What does he want now?

“I don’t know,” Daichi mumbles, the corners of his mouth curving into a soft frown as he hides it in the crook of his elbow. “I don’t know.”

— 

The texts he and Kuroo send each other aren’t anything very exciting. Neither of them seem to be the type to text often, mostly because they’re both busy with other things during the day—Daichi with studying, and Kuroo with work. But despite his busy schedule, Kuroo still manages to check in on him from time to time, asking if he remembered to eat lunch today or how much he slept the night before. Daichi drops in on team practice when he needs a break and sends Kuroo a picture of his kouhai doing jump serve drills, to which Kuroo responds with a single crying emoji. 

Pretty standard stuff—except, Daichi still has no idea what Kuroo is thinking. It’s all very polite, all very _distant_ , and while Daichi is more than happy to have Kuroo’s friendship, the confusing push and pull of their interactions leaves him wondering more than ever what Kuroo wants.

Or, again, as Suga had so aptly asked him that day: what does _Daichi_ want?

One night, a notification pops up on Daichi’s screen as he’s toweling his hair off after showering. 

**Kuroo Tetsurou-san** (8:09PM)   
hey, sawamura-kun.

His heart thuds hard in his chest when he sees the name. After a moment’s hesitation, Daichi plucks his phone off his desk and swipes it open, tapping a quick reply. It doesn’t take long before his phone vibrates with another text.

**Kuroo Tetsurou-san** (8:13PM)

when are you free this week?

**Kuroo Tetsurou-san** (8:14PM)

let’s grab dinner.

Daichi sucks in a breath through his teeth, drumming his fingers on his desk as he chews on his bottom lip thoughtfully. The wording of the text sounds casual enough, as if it could be platonic, but it could also mean something more as well. In the first place, what does Daichi even want it to mean? He isn’t so sure he knows how he feels towards Kuroo past cursory attraction and curiosity. Gratitude, certainly—but beyond that? He doesn't really want to get into a relationship right now. Those are messy, and requires more time than he has to give. But there's no denying the fact that he feels _something_ for Kuroo that isn't quite in line with your typical friendship. He wonders if there is some comfortable middle ground between friendship and a relationship that would work, or if Kuroo would even want that with him.

There’s only one way to find out, Daichi supposes. 

  
**Me** (8:31PM)   
How about Friday evening? My lecture’s done at 5.

**Kuroo Tetsurou-san** (8:32PM)   
pick you up at 6?

Briefly, Daichi considers responding with something flirtatious to test the waters, but decides against it last minute. It’s probably better to play this safe, considering the last time he’d been a little more daring with Kuroo it’d proceeded to blow up spectacularly in his face. He settles for a simple reply of assent, to which Kuroo sends one of the smiling cat emojis and another text wishing him goodnight.

Friday rolls around the corner and Daichi is antsy the entire time, jiggling his knee under the desk during his lecture. He’s too distracted to take proper notes, and he knows it’ll end up biting him in the ass come exam time, but there’s simply no helping the fact that he can’t concentrate right now to save his life. He shoves his laptop into his shoulder bag and books it out of the lecture hall the minute the professor wraps up, running to the bus stop with his hand gripping at his bag strap. It takes 21 minutes for him to get home, meaning he only has 39 minutes before Kuroo is set to show up at his doorstep, and a quick glance in the mirror tells him that he needs all the time he can get. Long story short—he looks like a fourth year thesis student in his final semester of university.

So, essentially, like absolute _ass_.

He needs back-up. 

Suga picks up his facetime call almost immediately, bless him, and he barely gets out a greeting before Daichi is cutting him off to blurt out, “Kuroo is taking me out to dinner in half an hour.”

“Oh. _Oh_. Oh! Fuck. Okay,” Suga says, eyes widening as he makes a face like he’s assessing how much work he has cut out for him. “Okay, don’t panic. We’ll fix this. First thing’s first, go put two spoons in the freezer.”

“ _Why_ — ”

“Daichi, I love you, and you know I think you’re hot as hell, but you look like you have two black eyes because you subsist on caffeine instead of actually sleeping. Now do as I say. Chop chop.”

It’s exactly 5:58PM when Daichi steps back to show Suga the fruits of his labour. They opted to go for somewhat of a classic image—dark grey turtleneck, black, cuffed slacks, and leather boots. He’s run a bit of product through his hair, which is getting too long for Daichi’s liking but he hasn’t found the time to go get a cut yet, and it’s brushed back out of his eyes.

Suga lets out a low whistle of appreciation. “I’ve impressed even myself.”

Out of recognition for the fact that Suga did indeed save his ugly, sleep deprived ass, he has enough respect to hold back the urge to roll his eyes. Daichi does a slow turn, eyeing himself in the bathroom mirror. He looks much better than he did 28 minutes ago, that’s for sure. The cold spoon trick really did wonders for his dark circles.

As if on cue, a notification banner pops down on top of Suga’s facetime call.

**Kuroo Tetsurou-san** (6:00PM)

waiting outside

“Oh, he’s here,” Daichi breathes, already sounding flustered, and grimaces when a grin spreads itself across Suga’s dainty face.

“Go get ‘im tiger!” The suggestive tone in Suga’s voice makes Daichi flush harder, but he nods before tapping out of the call. It’s not like he’s going into this _expecting_ to get lucky, he knows it’s just dinner—but, well, Daichi is only human, and Kuroo is really attractive.

(And kind, and funny, and hard working, and generous, and—)

He stuffs his wallet into his back pocket, grabs his coat off the rack and heads out the door, taking the stairs down to the lobby two steps at a time. Kuroo’s car is waiting right outside the entrance to his apartment and Daichi makes a beeline for the passenger side, opening the door and sliding into the leather seat.

“Hi,” he says, trying not to sound breathless in the face of Kuroo’s bright smile.

“Hi,” Kuroo echoes, leaning forward to rest his cheek on his hands where they’re wrapped around the top of the steering wheel. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, Sawamura-kun.”

Daichi hides his embarrassment behind a chuckle. “Rough day at work?” He asks, busying himself with buckling his seatbelt so that he doesn’t have to look Kuroo in the eye.

“Ah, well. You know how it is.” The shrug Kuroo offers up is casual but Daichi is pretty sure he can see the tension in Kuroo’s shoulders as he puts the car into drive. 

“I don’t, actually,” Daichi points out, not quite pressing for more information but not quite willing to let Kuroo change the subject just yet. “You never did tell me what you do for a living.”

Kuroo turns to him then, brows raised. “Really? I could’ve sworn I mentioned it at some point or another. I’m a litigation lawyer for Nekomata & Washijo LLP.”

The sudden memory of Kuroo offering to sign a legal document back at the bar makes its way to the forefront of Daichi’s mind, alongside Kuroo’s severe face when he said something about _facing lesser people every day_. 

“I see,” Daichi muses, putting together the few pieces of the puzzle he’s been offered. “That makes a lot of sense, actually.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm. It suits you.”

It’s meant to be a compliment, at least in Daichi’s mind, but Kuroo snorts in reply as he presses a hand to his chest, his voice somewhat tense as he says, “ouch, Sawamura-kun. That’s the cruelest thing you’ve ever said to me, I think.”

Though he’s curious, Daichi elects not to ask why, because there’s a certain set of Kuroo’s jaw that makes him think they should move on from this topic if he wants the rest of the night to be enjoyable for the both of them. 

When he changes topics, the furrow in between Kuroo’s brows softens and he swears Kuroo shoots him a look of quiet gratitude before following his lead, falling into lighthearted conversation about a cat cafe that Daichi had passed by earlier in the day. Daichi tells him about the orange cat that had been lounging in the hammock hanging on the window, and the way its paw had been pressed up against the glass to show its pink toes, and then bites his tongue as he just as easily goes to suggest that they should go together sometime. 

Silly. He doubts a busy lawyer like Kuroo would want to spend his precious day off at a cat cafe, especially with Daichi, but then Kuroo smiles and says, casually, “we should go together.”

“...yeah,” Daichi says, shifting a little in his seat so Kuroo can’t see his expression. “We should.”

The restaurant they pull up to is certainly not what Daichi had been expecting. For one, there’s a _valet service_ waiting out front, and two, everyone walking inside looks extremely put together. Kuroo parks the car in front of the valet before turning to Daichi, who must be wearing a rather shell-shocked expression, because Kuroo offers him a reassuring smile and reaches out to pat his hand. 

“Come on, Sawamura-kun. It’ll be fine, promise.”

Dumbly, Daichi follows Kuroo out of the car and trails behind him as he presses his keys and a generous tip into the valet’s hand. Luckily, while everyone entering the restaurant looks like they belong on the cover of a magazine—Kuroo included—the dress code doesn’t seem to be all that strict, so the outfit Suga put together for Daichi fits right in. They’re greeted at the door and Kuroo doesn’t even have to provide his name before their coats are taken and they’re led to their seats.

“Kuroo-san...this place, it looks…”

 _Really fucking expensive_ , are the words that Daichi tries to communicate by casting a dubious look around the dimly lit venue. 

“It’s fine, we’re not paying for it anyway. The executive chef and owner is an old friend, and he owes me a couple favours,” Kuroo says, waving his hand with a roll of his eyes. “Bokuto is _terrible_ at Settlers of Catan. And Mario Kart. And anything that isn’t dependent on brute strength.”

Somehow, that relieves some of the tension in Daichi’s chest and he lets his shoulders drop slightly. “I’ve heard of that name before,” he comments, reaching forward to take a sip of his water. Across from him Kuroo is fiddling with the cuff links of his navy suit, and just looking at the broadness of his shoulders, the swell of his chest, and the taper of his trim waist makes something warm simmer underneath Daichi’s skin. 

“Probably when we were at _Night Owl_. Bokuto owns that bar, too.”

“Oh! Akaashi-san called him ‘Koutarou’, right?” 

“Yup, Bokuto Koutarou. Him and Akaashi and I met in highschool. He’s kind of a big deal in the culinary world, and I’ll never say it to his face because he’ll be absolutely unbearable about it, but I guess it’s well deserved. You’ll see when you eat his food.” The face that Kuroo makes when talking about his friends is affectionate, his cheeks turning a little pink as if he’s embarrassed to be praising his friend’s success. “He’s got a Michelin star or two, but the world would crumble if they found out how he really is behind the scenes.”

Daichi laughs, crossing his legs under the table as he leans forward onto his elbows. “Oh?” He says, raising his brows with interest. “So what is he really like, then?”

“Sure, the headlines are splashed with _young culinary prodigy_ or _People Magazine’s_ _Sexiest Man Alive_ , but they don’t know about the time that he superglued his forearms together—”

Kuroo animatedly recounts the story, including all the gritty details that have Daichi snorting water up his nose and bringing his napkin to his face to hide it. He’s vaguely aware of the patrons around them directing disgruntled looks their way for disrupting the relaxed ambience of the restaurant, but then Kuroo is making a face to imitate how Akaashi had reacted when he’d finally shown up at the emergency room and Daichi finds himself hard pressed to care about anything else.

Their appetizers show up right as Kuroo is wiping a tear from his eye. “Oh, _man_ ,” he laughs breathily, grinning up at Daichi. “That story never gets old. The shit we got up to when we were younger, seriously.”

“Your lack of self-preservation skills really strike fear into my soul, Kuroo-san.”

“Ah, well, we haven’t been so lucky as to perish from it just yet.”

The waiters place the dishes down in front of Kuroo and Daichi before one of them greets Kuroo warmly, familiar enough to lay a hand on his shoulder. They chat for a brief moment before he excuses himself, wishing them a pleasant meal as he walks away from their table.

“Give it a try,” Kuroo says, making no move to start eating himself. He clasps his fingers together and rests his chin on his hands, looking over at Daichi expectantly. “Go on!”

So Daichi does, picking up his fork and spearing a piece of what looks like duck on top of a grey-ish puree of some kind, decorated with an assortment of microgreens and edible flowers. It’s the fanciest looking dish Daichi has ever had the opportunity to try—he makes sure to load a little bit of every element onto his fork before gingerly bringing it to his mouth.

Oh, _shit_. 

Whatever look makes its way onto Daichi’s face draws a cheerful laugh from Kuroo, whose eyes actually twinkle from where he’s sitting across the table.

“Good?” He asks, obviously amused by Daichi’s reaction.

It’s all Daichi can do to nod as he chews, not wanting to miss a single moment of the tastes bursting inside of his mouth. Food is love. Food is happiness. Up until now Daichi hasn’t ever found high class cuisine to look all that desirable—it always seemed kind of plastic, more like a painting than actually delicious food, which Daichi has always known to be plated in mismatched dinnerware—big heaping portions of rice and meat that his mom serves up with a wide smile on her face.

Bokuto’s food is somehow the combination of both—a high class appearance with the feeling of home and an obvious love for cooking. It’s the kind of food that makes people feel good inside and out, Daichi realizes, which matches the character that Kuroo had been talking about in his stories just moments earlier.

“You look so happy when you eat,” The gaze Kuroo is directing his way is so openly affectionate that Daichi nearly chokes when he goes to swallow. “So genuine.”

“How do people usually eat their food?” Daichi blinks, a little flustered and not quite understanding. “Wouldn’t you normally be happy to eat something delicious?”

“Mm,” Kuroo hums, suddenly busying himself with placing his napkin on his lap. “You’d be surprised, Sawamura-kun. I think it’s rare for someone to be as open with their expressions as you are. It’s quite refreshing. Bokuto would be over the moon if he could see how happy his food makes you.”

The strangest things seem to catch Kuroo’s attention, Daichi thinks bemusedly—he remembers the shape of the word _admire_ in Kuroo’s mouth, and the confusion that it’d caused because he didn’t remember doing anything that would be worthy of Kuroo’s admiration in the first place. Turns out the things that Kuroo appreciates is something as easy as eating delicious food, and stories about a cat’s paw pressed up against a glass window. Daichi likes that about him, he decides, his mouth curling into a small, fond smile.

“Well, if he ever needs a taste tester, I suppose I can offer my services.”

Kuroo huffs a laugh through his nose as he takes his first bite. “I’ll make sure to pass along the message.” 

They’re halfway through the main course when another customer dining a few tables away catches Daichi’s eye. He looks familiar, but it takes a few moments for Daichi to recognize who it is before he’s sucking in a sharp inhale through his teeth, his brows furrowing as his fork drops to the table, leaving sauce marks on the fine white cloth.

“Sawamura-kun?” Kuroo says, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

Clearing his throat, Daichi risks another glance at the man’s profile just to make sure it’s who he thinks it is. 

“That man sitting over there.” He jerks his chin towards his right, and Kuroo follows the direction until he’s looking at the customer as well. “He’s the restaurateur who laid a hand on my coworker and then got me fired.” 

Anger coils tightly in Daichi’s belly as he wordlessly stabs a piece of carrot and stuffs it in his mouth, eyes downcast as he recalls the series of events that’d transpired just a few weeks ago. Belatedly he realizes that it probably wasn’t very polite to bring attention to such matters in the middle of dinner and he looks up, breath catching in his throat when he notices the way Kuroo’s eyes have gone dark.

Kuroo is still looking over at where the man is sitting—his facial features are relaxed, and Daichi can’t exactly tell what it is that has shifted the atmosphere around him but a chill inadvertently runs up Daichi’s spine at the sight. This is a Kuroo that is foreign to him. More than anything this Kuroo feels cold, like the sunny light that usually glimmers in his golden eyes has been snuffed out. 

“...I’ll be right back, Sawamura-kun,” he says, not looking Daichi’s way as he removes his napkin from his lap and places it on the table next to his plate.

  
In a panic Daichi reaches out to grasp Kuroo’s wrist. “What are you going to do?” He asks, his eyes widening. “Please don’t, Kuroo-san. I’m sorry I said anything, it’s fine—”

But Kuroo simply pats Daichi’s hand, and for just a moment a sliver of warmth returns to his eyes when he offers a small smile and says, “don’t worry. Just trust me.”

With that, he slips out of Daichi’s hold, buttoning his suit jacket as he makes his way over to where the man is sitting, sliding a hand on the man’s shoulder with familiarity. The smile that Kuroo has plastered on his face now is wide and toothy but it’s so different from the smile that he’d just shown Daichi that it takes Daichi off guard. This smile feels like a blade, too sharp to feel genuine as he leans in to shake the man’s hand. 

They chat for a little while, but Daichi doesn’t think he’s imagining the way the man is looking more and more uncomfortable as the two continue talking. It was a mistake to have mentioned anything at all, and Daichi starts to feel a little nauseous as he chews on his lip worriedly, wondering what on earth Kuroo is saying to him. 

Before long Kuroo gives the man another fake sunny smile as he shakes his hand again, but this time he leans in to whisper something in the man’s ear, patting the man’s shoulder firmly and bowing slightly to the woman sitting across from him before making his way back to their table.

“What did you say to him?” Daichi hisses as soon as Kuroo sits down like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the man waving a waiter over, and Daichi assumes he’s asking for the bill despite the plate of unfinished food in front of him. “You made him leave?”

“No,” Kuroo says nonchalantly, picking his fork back up and taking another bite of his dinner. “I just greeted an old client and gave him a friendly reminder that plea deals are finite in nature, and he should take care to stay out of trouble lest he finds himself in yet another sticky situation.”

The vagueness of Kuroo’s words makes Daichi want to grind his teeth. He opts to stare openly across the table, making his displeasure well known until Kuroo sighs and looks up to meet his eyes.

“It’s not that I won’t tell you. I’m legally prohibited from saying much more, Sawamura-kun. But I imagine your boss will be calling you to offer you your job back shortly.”

“Why did you do that?” Daichi demands, fighting to keep his voice steady. “I don’t want that job back, not when I know how easy it was for them to toss me aside so that they can stay in some rich man’s pocket. I have more pride than that, Kuroo-san.”

“I know. I didn’t do it for your sake.”

“Then why?”

“Because people like you, good people who are willing to stand up to men like that, are few and far between. I couldn’t sit idly by and watch him win at your expense. So he’s going to right this very small, very inconsequential wrong in the grand scheme of everything he’s done in the past, and you’ll have the chance to tell your old boss exactly where he can stick it, if you want. It was a completely self satisfying move on my part, Sawamura-kun. You’ll have to forgive me for taking matters into my own hands.”

The resolution in Kuroo’s words takes Daichi by surprise, and he parts his lips to reply but nothing suitable is coming to mind. All he knows—all he can think of is how breathtaking Kuroo is in this moment, the sturdy lines of his shoulders and his unwavering gaze as he faces Daichi with such earnesty it makes Daichi’s skin prickle with heat. It’s not fair, he thinks, quietly returning to picking at his food, how easily Kuroo seems to render him speechless like this. It’s not fair how much he respects Kuroo, and how kind Kuroo is without asking for anything in return.

He’s the type of man who stands up for Daichi without being asked and then has the gall to call it _self satisfying_ while asking for forgiveness. It’s absurd how fond of him Daichi is, which in itself is a problem that Daichi can’t help but mull over all through dessert.

Kuroo continues casting worried glances his way, and when it comes time to leave, he takes care to keep a light hand on the small of Daichi’s back as he leads them out of the restaurant.

“Sawamura-kun,” he starts awkwardly, once they’re warming up in the car, “listen, I want to apologize again—”

Before he can get any further than that, Daichi cuts in, fixing Kuroo with a decisive stare. “Can I come over?” He says, before he can regret it, noting the way Kuroo’s eyes widen in surprise. “It’s still early. I don’t want to go home just yet.”

The hesitation that lingers in the air is palpable as Kuroo studies Daichi’s face carefully, a slight bob in his adam’s apple making Daichi drop his gaze for just a moment before he brings his eyes back to Kuroo’s.

“Sure,” Kuroo says softly. “Of course you can.”

He puts the car into drive and they don’t speak much on the ride back. The entire time Daichi is wondering what exactly it is that he wants to say to Kuroo. More than anything, he wants to know what Kuroo is thinking, and he wants to know where they stand in this strange not-quite-friendship of theirs. After all, though Daichi may be dense at times, he’s not stupid. The fond smiles, the drawn out silences, and the way that Kuroo looks at him when he thinks he isn’t looking back—it hangs in the air between them, and Daichi isn’t really one to shy around such matters, even if it’s not necessarily easy to talk about.

So he’ll find the right words to say, and then they’ll go from there.

By the time they reach Kuroo’s apartment, Daichi is positively vibrating with nerves. They take the elevator up to the penthouse suite, and Daichi follows Kuroo as he unlocks the door and welcomes him inside with a tilt of his head. Kuroo takes his coat, and he removes his boots before padding in after Kuroo, mind buzzing with so much background noise that he feels dopey with it.

“Can I get you some water?” Kuroo asks, moving towards the kitchen, and for some reason his nonchalance is what ends up making Daichi snap.

“What are you getting out of all this?” Daichi blurts out, watching the way Kuroo’s hand freezes on the fridge handle. Admittedly his confusion comes out more heated than he intended, but over time it had curdled in his stomach like sour milk and he can’t help but hear how pathetic he sounds when he murmurs, “I don’t get it, Kuroo-san. I don’t get you.”

No matter how many times he runs the situation through his head, he just can’t understand it—not that he has low self-esteem or anything, but the notion that there is no world in which a big hotshot lawyer like Kuroo is anywhere within the realm of his league surely toes the line of objectivity. Daichi doesn’t understand the intent behind the lavish gifts, the expensive dinners and the special treatment, because it doesn’t even seem like Kuroo has any feelings for Daichi to reciprocate. He keeps himself at a perfect distance—close but not close enough—and it leaves Daichi unsure if there will be anyone there to hold onto if he reaches out his hand.

“Have I done something wrong?” Kuroo tilts his head, brows furrowed with concern. He removes his suit jacket while he speaks, draping it over the back of a kitchen chair and removing his cufflinks before continuing, “if I’ve made you uncomfortable—”

“No! You haven’t done anything wrong.” Daichi interrupts, throwing his hands up in frustration. “That’s what I don’t understand. You’re doing everything right—always so careful, so polite, so generous and kind. You’re _perfect_. But why? Why would you rather spend the evening taking me out to dinner instead of doing anything else? What do you want in return? You certainly don’t need money, and surely there are easier ways and better people to hook up with—not that you’ve made any moves, anyway. Explain it to me, Kuroo-san. Please.”

The sudden heat in Kuroo’s eyes makes Daichi take a reflexive step back, his heart thudding hard in his ribcage out of disbelief that he’d actually gone and said everything that has been plaguing his thoughts for weeks now. There’s a tense silence in the room so thick that Daichi wants to slice into it, part it like clouds so that he can see into Kuroo’s mind and get a taste of what he’s thinking. 

“I just want to treat you well,” Kuroo responds slowly—his words are innocent and sweet, but his body language somehow relays a different message altogether. The Kuroo in front of Daichi right now is warm, spiced honey, burning his tongue in a way that could be addicting if he allows himself to fall. “I’ve told you before that I don’t expect anything in return, but if you’re so insistent on reciprocating then tell me, what exactly is it that you want me to ask of you, Sawamura-kun?”

It’s a question that begs a specific answer because Kuroo raises his brow and Daichi’s cheeks flare at the insinuation. Despite Daichi’s insistence that Kuroo ought to be looking for some sort of compensation for his kindness, there’s no way to continue denying the obvious—it’s _Daichi_ that wants Kuroo to voice his desires, and it’s his own selfishness that hopes Kuroo even has any such desires in the first place. He wants to get to know Kuroo in a way that is more than their current banter will allow. He wants to run his fingers through Kuroo’s hair and feel the jut of Kuroo’s hipbones under his fingertips but he’s not sure if that’s something that Kuroo wants, too.

“You know,” Kuroo says leisurely, cutting into Daichi’s thoughts as he walks closer to Daichi and takes a seat on the plush armchair in the living space—he perches his elbow on the armrest, curling his fingers underneath his chin delicately with his legs spread wide. Something about his posture makes Daichi stand up straighter, heat flaring in his belly at how suggestive Kuroo is despite merely sitting down. The combination of his tousled hair, his tie that’s loosened just a little bit with his shirt sleeves rolled past his forearms, and last but not least those _eyes_ , all but luminescent under the ambient lighting of Kuroo’s living room is more devastating that any single person has the right to be. “There’s no need to preface it as a simple give and take. You should be more selfish, Sawamura-kun—I’ll give you anything you want, you know that. But you have to be a good boy and say it first.”

His words make Daichi swallow hard as he clenches his fists by his side. It wouldn’t be fair for him to ask for anything more than this, not after everything that Kuroo has already given him, but what’s even more unfair is to insist that Kuroo has to have ulterior motives behind his kindness when in truth it’s Daichi who is hoping that he’ll ask.

“Do you—” Daichi grits, feeling his blood boil under his skin and spreading a scarlet flush from his cheeks all the way down to his chest, “want me?”

Kuroo tilts his head, a slow smile spreading across his face like the cat who got the cream, his lips pursing ever so slightly as he hums lightly in consideration.

He doesn’t get a proper answer, Daichi realizes, likely because Kuroo can tell that the question Daichi ended up asking isn’t at all the point. It’s like Kuroo can see through all of Daichi’s defenses, can tell that Daichi isn’t used to stating his own desires—whether that be because of the way he was raised or because of his general disposition, he’s used to being the one to take care of others rather than the one being taken care of. And more to the point, he’s used to listening to what others want, instead of voicing his own desires. 

“I’m not sure if you do,” he blurts out finally, bringing his eyes to meet Kuroo’s, pulling at his fingers in a rare show of nervousness. “But I—I, uhm—”

Oh, god. Daichi grimaces, frustrated at his own inability because this is so unlike him. Since when has he ever been one to shy around his words? It’s not like he’s a virgin or anything, and he has always been assertive with his past partners. But it goes without saying that Kuroo is different from anything Daichi has ever known. He makes Daichi feel like a person he’s never been before, and it confuses him to the point where he isn’t quite sure how to proceed.

But it’s precisely when he falters that Kuroo relents, as if he knows that Daichi needs a little help getting his thoughts out.

“Come here, darling.”

Kuroo’s voice is ambrosia sweet and his eyes are half lidded, burning slow like glowing embers that make Daichi feel warm all over. He finds, mysteriously, that despite the foreign situation and the simmer of anxiety in his stomach, he isn’t at all uncomfortable. Kuroo makes this almost easy—there’s something about him, the deep chocolate of his voice, the affection in his words, and the reassurance in his gaze that makes Daichi want to be obedient for him. So he takes a slow step, drawing closer until Kuroo smiles and reaches out to cup his cheek with a warm hand.

“Sweet thing,” he murmurs, stroking the pad of his thumb across Daichi’s bottom lip, making Daichi shiver as he peers down at Kuroo with wide eyes. “Are you scared?”

“No,” Daichi says, and it’s the truth. “I’m not.”

The smile Kuroo gives him is small, soft, and pleased all at once. It fills Daichi with the confidence to lean into Kuroo’s touch, callused fingers rough against his skin, and when Kuroo’s thumb dips into his mouth, he closes his lips around it and swirls his tongue over the tip, eyes never straying from Kuroo’s face.

“Oh, aren’t you too cute?” Kuroo coos, eyes narrowing incrementally, gold shimmering to bronze as his gaze darkens. “Careful, love. It makes me want to kiss you.”

Kuroo’s stare lays heavy on his skin and the weight of it makes Daichi feel like he’s burning up in the atmosphere, so thrillingly dangerous and warm at the same time. Before he really knows what he’s doing, he opens his mouth to say the first thing that comes to mind.

“Please,” he whispers. “Please.”

The last thing Daichi registers is the lightning flash of a smile, striking Daichi’s nerves like a drum before Kuroo cups the back of his neck and leans in, and Daichi catches fire, burning slow and fierce like he never has before. It’s strange—Daichi’s kissed people before, but this might be the first time he’s properly _been kissed_ , and it’s almost terrifying how vulnerable he feels. Like a trust fall, Kuroo takes him apart and puts him back together again in one fell swoop, coaxes his mouth open gently and takes and takes and _takes_ until Daichi is shaking like a leaf under Kuroo’s touch. His pulse thrums to the beat of finally, finally, _finally_.

It’s downright addicting.

“You taste amazing,” Kuroo whispers. His words exist solely within the scant space between their lips and Daichi moves to close that space, dizzy with how much more he wants. Kuroo’s fingers are gentle on Daichi’s jawline, his thumb tracing light strokes across his cheek, but his kiss has the edge of a bite to it that Daichi can’t help but press into again and again. 

He feels Kuroo smiling against his lips, his other hand fluttering onto the curve of Daichi’s waist, pulling him until Daichi has no choice but to clamber onto Kuroo’s lap. Kuroo looks pleased when he leans in to press a kiss to Daichi’s neck, fingers just dancing along the hem of Daichi’s shirt, before moving his lips to Daichi’s ear. “Tell me what you want, darling.”

The ghost of Kuroo’s breath makes Daichi shiver. He isn’t sure what he wants, whether it’s Kuroo’s friendship or his companionship or his affection, but the truth of the matter is, all of those things have one thing in common, and Kuroo is always telling him to be more selfish. 

Is it so unacceptable to say he wants it all?

“You,” Daichi murmurs—because no other answer summarizes it all more precisely than that. “Just you.”

Kuroo grins, downright wicked and so, so sweet. 

“I can manage that.”

His fingers skim the hem of Daichi’s shirt, cold fingers pressing into Daichi’s heated flesh, surprising him enough that he lets out a little gasp that Kuroo smiles into. 

“Your hands are cold,” Daichi huffs, shimmying his hips to try and shake Kuroo’s icy hands off of him, but in their current positioning it only makes his internal temperature flare up even more. Kuroo raises his brows bemusedly at the way Daichi bites his bottom lip, face obviously turning more and more scarlet by the minute. 

“It’s a good thing you’re so warm then, huh?” Without missing a beat, Kuroo slides his hands further up Daichi’s shirt, scratching his nails down Daichi’s back lightly but the sensation is enough to make him shiver, a shaky groan teetering on the edge of his lips that he moves to muffle into Kuroo’s shoulder. It should be offensive, the way Kuroo chuckles at his reaction, but there isn’t even a hint of meanness to his voice when Kuroo whispers, “you’re so sensitive, love.”

That’s not it, really. Daichi has never been especially sensitive or especially reactive during sex. But under Kuroo’s touch it’s a different story altogether—maybe it’s because he’s been wound up for weeks now and Kuroo is finally touching him properly, but his nerve endings feel like they’re on fire, reacting to every brush of Kuroo’s hair tickling along his cheek as they kiss, and the tantalizing press of Kuroo’s tongue along his bottom lip. 

Kuroo kisses like they have all the time in the world, like he’s _savouring_ the moment, maybe committing it to memory as if they might never find themselves doing this again.

Daichi hopes they do. God, he hopes they do. 

It might be endearing, how slowly Kuroo seems to want to take this, but the sharp edge of desire shoves itself against the inner walls of Daichi’s chest and he can’t help but let out a sound that is absolutely _not_ a whimper, fingers scrabbling for purchase in the soft material of Kuroo’s shirt. 

It’s mortifying how utterly wrecked Daichi feels, even with nothing more than Kuroo’s tongue in his mouth and a few well timed rolls of their hips slotting together. 

“Tell me what you want, baby,” Kuroo murmurs, and to make it clear—Daichi has never been fond of pet names. Especially _baby_. He used to wrinkle his nose at the sound of it, roll his eyes whenever Suga would coo it at his boyfriends through the years. 

Oh, but the sound of _baby_ on Kuroo’s tongue is an entirely new experience, it seems. His cock strains painfully against his jeans and he can feel Kuroo’s hands digging into the pert his ass when he rolls his hips downwards, desperate for relief. 

Daichi mouths along Kuroo’s neck, kissing his way up to the soft hollow of his jaw, just under his ear. 

“Want you in my mouth,” he whispers, “please.”

Kuroo lets out a rumbling groan as he leans forward to tuck his face into the crook of Daichi’s shoulder. “ _Fuck_ ,” he mumbles, breath puffing out hot against Daichi’s collarbone. “Yes, anything you want.”

Every minor step forward seems like a victory—getting Kuroo wound up enough to swear, the way his fingers tremble with self restraint, and how his breaths escape shakily between kiss swollen lips, eyes half lidded with arousal. For all the time they’ve spent together to date, Daichi feels like there are still layers to Kuroo’s shiny exterior that he has yet to peel away. He wants to see it all.

“You have to let me go, first,” Daichi chuckles breathily, trying half-heartedly to wriggle out of Kuroo’s grasp, which only makes Kuroo cling on even tighter. His lips brush against Daichi’s pulse point, and he lingers there as if feeling the way Daichi’s blood is rushing under his skin. It makes Daichi feel vulnerable and impatient at the same time—he threads his fingers through Kuroo’s hair and tugs, not hard, but enough to get his point across. “C’mon, Kuroo-san. I’ll make it worth your while.”

The glint in Kuroo’s eyes turns almost predatory as he leans back into the plush cushioning of the armchair, his hands falling away from Daichi’s waist as his mouth curls into a lazy smile. 

“Go on then,” he says, raising his brows. “Show me how good you can be.”

It’s as much a challenge as it is seduction, and Daichi has never been one to shy away from a challenge, no matter the circumstances. In one smooth motion he slinks lithely to the ground, kneeling between Kuroo’s spread legs as he leans forward to gingerly take Kuroo’s zipper between his teeth and pulls. This, Daichi thinks, is a game he knows how to play. He peeks up through his lashes to look at Kuroo, nuzzling his cheek to Kuroo’s clothed cock, straining against his red boxer briefs. It’s not to say that Daichi feels inadequate when he’s with Kuroo—Kuroo has never done anything to make Daichi feel like he isn’t equal, but sex is enough like a competition that Daichi knows with confidence that he can give it just as well as he can take it.

Kuroo’s eyes are molten gold as he stares down at Daichi, and on a surface level he looks composed enough. But by now Daichi has spent enough time with him to notice the minute details that are slipping through the cracks—the way his chest shakes as it rises and falls with his slow breaths, the blotchy flush that has started over his collarbones. Daichi doesn’t _preen_ per se, but he does hide his smug smile as he presses his lips to the dark red fabric in front of him, mouthing over it in a bit more of a show than he tends to give.

The sharp inhale that Kuroo sucks in through his teeth only makes Daichi’s smile grow in spades.

“ _Brat_ ,” is the hushed whisper that Daichi receives in return, and it probably shouldn’t make him throb with heat like it does.

He glances upwards, blinks innocently, and knows that Kuroo isn’t falling for a single second of it. “Am I not doing a good job, Kuroo-san?”

Kuroo runs his fingers through his hair as he shakes his head with exasperation, but when he looks down, his eyes have darkened dangerously with an unspoken warning. “Is this really the game you want to play, Sawamura-kun?”

“Mm,” Daichi hums, spreading his tongue over the wet spot that has slowly stained Kuroo’s underwear, reveling in the way Kuroo’s breath hitches as he does. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, _sir_.”

 _That_ garners a response, if Daichi’s ever seen one. Kuroo’s dick actually twitches against his lips and it makes a burst of heat radiate in the pit of Daichi’s belly—it’s only then that he realizes, belatedly, that he’s so hard it hurts where his cock is pressed up against the inside of his jeans.

Kuroo looks red in the face and ever so slightly unhinged when Daichi smirks knowingly up at him in a show of impressive self control, if he does say so himself, considering how drunk with arousal he feels. His fingertips finally catch on the waistband of Kuroo’s boxer briefs to pull them down, watching intently as his cock springs free. Kuroo is big—like, _big_ , which doesn’t really surprise Daichi considering how long and broad the rest of Kuroo’s body is. Licking his lips, Daichi leans forward to press them to the tip, tasting salt and musk as he swirls his tongue over the reddened skin, his eyelids fluttering shut as he loses himself in the motions. He slides his mouth further down Kuroo’s cock, holding his lips tight and hollowing out his cheeks as he goes, letting himself relax around Kuroo’s size as he does it again and again.

The drag of Kuroo’s cock in his mouth feels good, so fucking good, and he hasn’t even been touched yet. Daichi can’t help but roll his hips a little, a soft whimper vibrating through his mouth at the rough friction of his jeans, not a source of relief by any means. 

“Such a pretty little mouth, darling,” Kuroo murmurs, his fingers coming to curl gently behind Daichi’s head, featherlight. He doesn’t add any pressure, just hovers his hand there, palm hot and rough on the back of Daichi’s neck. “Look at you. Stunning. Come on, keep going for me.”

His voice is rough and soft at the same time, cracking with pleasure and melting with intimacy. This is exactly what Daichi loves about _giving_ —to know that he’s the reason why Kuroo sounds so breathless, to know that he’s making Kuroo feel so good his fingers are shaking against Daichi’s goosebumped skin. He thrives in the triumph, flattens his tongue against the bottom of Kuroo’s cock and takes him even deeper, until he’s riding out his gag reflex and his nose is nearly touching Kuroo’s stomach.   
  
“ _Baby_ , how are you—” 

Daichi’s eyes are watering, his legs are trembling, and his jaw is tense with strain, but he loves the feeling of Kuroo’s praise, and he bobs his head, again and again, pulling up and then taking Kuroo back in. He’s not sure he’s ever felt this good giving head before. His entire body is taut like a bowstring, trembling with effort and need alike. He needs Kuroo to come, needs to come himself so badly his mouth is watering for it, his arousal a tidal wave that threatens to overtake him.

“ _Fuck_ —” Kuroo chokes out, his fingers finally coming down to grip tightly against the back of Daichi’s neck. In the next moment Kuroo pulls Daichi off of him and then a rope of white is hitting Daichi’s cheek, dripping down to his jaw, but the only thing Daichi manages to register is the fact that Kuroo’s face as he comes is possibly the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

Daichi swipes his fingers through the cum on his face, and without thinking, sucks his fingers into his mouth, not missing the way Kuroo’s eyes flash at the sight of it, and then Kuroo is reaching down to haul Daichi back into his lap.

“Kuroo-san, Kuroo-san,” Daichi pants, feeling like he might burst with how turned on and desperate he is, his breath escaping him in a sort of punched out sound when Kuroo snaps open the button to his jeans and finally gets his hands around Daichi’s cock.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Kuroo says, licking into Daichi’s mouth, tasting the tang of his own cum on Daichi’s tongue, and Daichi all but sobs in relief when Kuroo pumps his hand, hot and rough and perfect. “You’re amazing, Sawamura-kun. You were so good for me, darling, so pretty—”

The praise gets to him. Everything gets to him. It hits Daichi all at once and he muffles his cry into Kuroo’s neck as his climax wracks his entire body until his toes curl. His body is so tense he barely remembers how to breathe, cheek pressed to Kuroo’s bony shoulder as he trembles through the aftershocks, slowly coming down from the high. He can feel Kuroo pressing kisses to his head, can feel him running his hands down his back soothingly, waiting for him to come back to himself. 

Somehow, the first thought he has when he gets his wits about him is the fact that the residual cum on his cheek had smeared across Kuroo’s soft dress shirt, and how the shirt probably costs more than any piece of clothing Daichi owns.

Whatever. It’s Kuroo’s cum, anyway.

“Darling?” Kuroo says, lips brushing against the shell of Daichi’s ear. “You still with me?”

“Mm,” Daichi mumbles, feeling boneless and sated and happy. “You have cum on your shirt.”

The warmth that blossoms in his chest at the sound of Kuroo’s exasperated chuckle is a different kind of heat entirely that Daichi doesn’t feel like examining under a microscope just yet. For now, he simply allows himself to relish in the way Kuroo’s arm tightens around him, and sinks into the rich sound of his name on Kuroo’s tongue.

—

They don’t talk about it, really. 

They don’t talk about what exactly this development means, or where they’re headed, or what their expectations are. And for what it’s worth—Daichi doesn’t particularly care to, not between the craziness of his last month of university and his new job bartending at _Night Owl_. 

True to Kuroo’s word, Daichi’s old boss had called him shortly after that night at the restaurant and offered him his job back—and just as Kuroo had suggested, Daichi told him exactly what he thought about working for an establishment that chooses to keep its nose in some millionaire’s asscrack instead of protecting its employees. The next call he receives is surprisingly from Akaashi. He explained that he’d mentioned Daichi’s story to Bokuto, who promptly lost his temper at the injustice of the situation and demanded Akaashi immediately contact him to let him know that _Night Owl_ would be honoured to employ such an upstanding young man.

And so, all things considered, he’s too busy writing assignment after assignment, pouring over his lecture notes at the library until the sun sets before rushing to the bar and practicing his cocktails under Akaashi’s observant eye.

Kuroo stops by more often than not, sometimes with coworkers, sometimes alone. For someone who hangs out at the bar almost nightly, he doesn’t really drink that much—his glass of whisky seems to be more for formality’s sake than anything else, sitting untouched as he rattles off strings of legal jargon while twirling a pen around his long, graceful fingers.

Sometimes he catches Daichi staring, and he’ll direct a covert wink his way before returning to his work, eyes shifting from gold to bronze one moment to the next. 

Inevitably, he’ll stay until the end of Daichi’s shift and offer Daichi a ride home. Inevitably, they end up going to Kuroo’s apartment instead of Daichi’s.

They don’t talk about it.

What Kuroo does, instead, is crowd Daichi against the wall the minute the door shuts behind them, pinning his hips down with his hands before dropping to his knees and damn near sucking Daichi’s soul out through his cock, pulling away _just_ before Daichi hits his peak. What Kuroo does is edge Daichi four different times in three different spots in his apartment—in the hallway, against the kitchen counter, then finally on his bed—until Daichi is all but sobbing and writhing against the sheets, begging for Kuroo to let him come. 

What Kuroo does is lean in, fingers still curled tight and commanding at the base of Daichi’s cock, and whisper that he’d _warned_ Daichi about playing this game the first time when Daichi had chosen to be a damn tease, and he should take care to remember that Kuroo never lets a favour go unreturned.

By the time he finally brings Daichi over the edge, Daichi doesn’t even recognize himself in the choked out sound that’s ripped from his throat. It’s all he can do to watch Kuroo make quick work of his own pants, getting himself off with a few strokes of his hand. Kuroo’s furrowed brows and the way his swollen lips drop open as he comes is the last thing Daichi remembers before he drifts off.

When he wakes, he realizes he’s been wiped clean and had been sleeping long enough to feel warm under Kuroo’s plush sheets. A quick glance at the clock hanging on the wall tells him it’s nearing 3 in the morning, far later than Daichi has ever stayed at Kuroo’s before. He has the mind to sleepily pull on one of Kuroo’s sweatshirts, a ratty navy _Tokyo Daigaku_ hoodie that feels soft from use and smells like Kuroo, before padding out to investigate.

Kuroo is sitting at his kitchen counter, an array of documents spread out across the marble as he chews on his thumbnail in concentration, once again twirling a pen between his fingers. He’s wearing a pair of gold rim glasses with black framing at the top, something Daichi hasn’t had the opportunity of seeing yet to date, and an oversized grey knit sweater that Daichi wants to dig his fingers into. This Kuroo, haloed by the warm glow of the edison bulbs hanging overhead, looks younger and softer than usual. It hits Daichi how intimate a scene this is—that he’d unintentionally stayed past the metaphorical Friday night, and is currently balancing on the fringes of the Saturday morning that inevitably follows. He wonders if this is perhaps too intimate, all things considered, and whether or not he should be preparing to leave right this minute so that he can make it home in time to catch a few more hours of sleep before he needs to get to his morning lecture.

But then Kuroo looks up, his big glasses slipping down on his nose a little, and the smile that spreads itself across his face is so sweet that Daichi can’t help but make his way closer.

“Hey you,” he says, “sleep well?” 

“You should have woken me,” is what Daichi says in return, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly before settling his hands on the counter, feeling a little awkward. “Sorry, it’s so late.”

The look on Kuroo’s face registers as surprised when he turns to face Daichi properly. “Why are you apologizing?”

Somehow it’s a question that Daichi doesn’t know how to respond to. He can’t explain why he feels like he’s done something wrong, like he doesn’t belong in Kuroo’s life beyond the rudimentary friendly lunches and occasional mind-blowing orgasm that they’d kept everything to thus far. Daichi settles on a shrug, chewing on the inside of his cheek for a few quiet moments before Kuroo is getting out of his barstool and walking over to the fridge.

“Want some hot chocolate?” He asks, pulling out a carton of milk with raised brows, and Daichi wants to hide his smile in his sleeve.

“Yeah,” he says, in spite of himself. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

Kuroo heats the milk in a pot on the stove and breaks chunks of real milk chocolate into it, primly insisting that this is the _only_ correct way to make hot chocolate. Daichi hoists himself to sit on the counter, his bare thighs against the cold marble, stretching his legs out in front of him and snickers at Kuroo’s affronted face when he admits that he has only ever made hot chocolate with instant powder and hot water.

The hot chocolate is rich, warm, and sweet—much like the feeling of Kuroo’s eyes on his as he leans his hip against the kitchen island opposite to Daichi, and they stay there for however long it takes for the both of them to drain their mugs. Conversation between them is easy and flows naturally, the way it usually does as long as Daichi manages to stop thinking about all the things that make it otherwise. He finds that Kuroo is right—hot chocolate made with milk and real pieces of milk chocolate is ten times better than the powdered stuff, especially at 3 in the morning in the kitchen of a man who laughs with his whole body and listens like he doesn’t have anywhere else to be.

“Sleep here tonight,” Kuroo says with a smile, after they’ve finished their drinks and Daichi is starting to feel his eyelids growing heavy. “I’ll drive you to your lecture in the morning.”

It’s a bad idea, probably, because Daichi finds that he really wants to know what Kuroo’s face looks like when it’s soft with sleep, and on the laundry list of things that he knows he probably shouldn’t do, sappy thoughts like that almost definitely fall somewhere on the line. But he looks at Kuroo with his glasses and his oversized sweater that covers his knuckles, humming softly to himself as he places their dirty mugs in the sink, and there suddenly isn’t a single thing that Daichi shouldn’t do if it means getting to stay with Kuroo just a little longer.

Which, in itself is such a big, fat, fucking problem, but who’s keeping count, anyway?

“Are you coming?” Daichi tilts his head, casting a meaningful glance at the pile of documents still spread out across the counter. Guilt lines itself in the set of Kuroo’s mouth as he frowns a little, following Daichi’s gaze back to his work as he considers.

“Mm, sorry love, I still have some work to do. You go on ahead.”

And because that answer just simply won’t do, Daichi tugs him in close, spreading his legs so that Kuroo’s hips can slot against the counter as he presses their lips together. The kiss is sweet and chaste—completely unlike the ones they’d shared earlier in the evening, but somehow it manages to leave so much more unsaid.

“Come to bed, Kuroo-san,” he says, truly not intending for anything other than sleep, and he knows he’s won when Kuroo sighs softly, pressing forward for one close-mouthed kiss, and then another, and then another. This, Daichi thinks, is Saturday morning contained within the darkness of a full moon night, tasting milk chocolate against Kuroo’s warm mouth, taking the time to feel each other’s touch without any other need pressing them to move faster.

When Daichi slides off the countertop, Kuroo wordlessly allows himself to be led towards his bedroom, their fingers tangled together and work laying forgotten on the cold marble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: the sheer dumbassery of super-gluing one's forearms together copyright © 2020 ashley yikesits all rights reserved
> 
> please no one mention how long it took me to get this chapter out or else i'll vanish back into my sewers and you'll never see me again. until next time!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please mind the new tags :>

“Okay, fine, whatever. Your turn.”

Kuroo laughs, pressing his stubbled cheek to Daichi’s bare thigh as he peers up with a bemused twinkle in his eye. “No need to pout, sweetheart. It’s just a game.”

“I’m not pouting,” Daichi snaps, shoving a forkful of instant macaroni and cheese into his mouth and chewing indignantly. “I’m just saying, going down on someone in a ferris wheel is unhygienic. And what if a child were to ride in the carriage next? It’s just—it’s immoral!”

“Oh, not to worry. I made sure I didn’t spill a single drop.”

“I’m leaving.”

Playing _Never Have I Ever_ seemed like an innocent enough idea when they’d started, but the lighthearted fun quickly dissolved into Daichi scowling as he tries to scramble off of Kuroo’s bed, blushing all the way down to his collarbones and doing his best to keep the tight coil of jealousy at bay—because Kuroo’s fingers were going down at an alarming rate, a dramatic contrast to both of Daichi’s still splayed out hands. 

“C’mere,” Kuroo chuckles, swiping the bowl of mac ‘n cheese from Daichi’s hands and placing it on the nightstand before tugging Daichi flush against him, so that his bare chest envelopes Daichi’s back. “What’s got you all worked up, hm?”

“Nothing, I just—“ Squirming slightly, Daichi’s skin breaks out into goosebumps as Kuroo’s fingers slip under the hem of his threadbare Nekoma highschool t-shirt that Daichi had thrown on, oversized and long enough that it falls down to Daichi’s thighs. “I just think…you’ve done lots of things. With lots of people.”

“Well that’s certainly a roundabout way of calling me a slut.” Despite his crude words, Kuroo sounds anything but offended as his fingers continue upwards, first brushing over Daichi’s abdomen, pressing his palms flat against the toned muscle. “Are you jealous, sweetheart?”

“N—“

Before Daichi manages to squeak out a denial, Kuroo leans in to nip at Daichi’s ear. 

“Liars get punished,” he warns lowly, hands smoothing up higher still to pinch at each pebbled nipple, still sensitive from the attention they’d received only hours earlier. “Now, tell me why you’re really upset.”

He just came not too long ago but Daichi finds that he’s already aching for it again, Kuroo’s shirt slowly tenting between Daichi’s legs as his cock stirs with interest the more Kuroo works his fingers against his chest. 

With a grimace, Daichi pulls away from Kuroo so that he can swivel around and straddle him properly, looping his arms around Kuroo’s neck as he levels him with an embarrassed glare, his cheeks flushing crimson. “Of course I’m jealous, you big idiot! You sucked someone off in a ferris wheel _and swallowed_!”

The rough laugh that spills out of Kuroo’s mouth makes Daichi give him a pinch on the cheek for good measure, which he rubs at sheepishly before continuing, “there’s absolutely no reason to get jealous over something like that, Sawamura-kun. After all, I’ve had many more years than you to do those kinds of things. I’m sure you’ll have just as much experience by the time you’re my age.”

A pause. 

Daichi blinks at Kuroo’s oblivious smile, something painful pulsing in his chest at the insinuation of what Kuroo just said. It wasn’t intentional, and Daichi knows that—but he wilts for a moment nonetheless, unsure of how to tell Kuroo that he’s starting to think he’d be just fine with never having as much experience with as many people as Kuroo, no matter how many years pass. 

That is to say, rather than that, he’d be fine with doing lots of things with just one person. 

But that’s dangerous territory to traverse upon and Daichi _knows_ that—has known it from the first moment he’d realized that he now knows exactly how sweet Kuroo prefers his coffee and the fact that Kuroo’s smile has the ability to lift his spirits no matter how worn down from school he is. After all, it’s been almost two months of this not-quite friendship with Kuroo and Daichi can’t help but feel like he’s no closer to figuring Kuroo out than he was before. 

It’s not so much about the label as it is the fact that he can’t help but feel like Kuroo doesn’t fully trust him enough to take off the mask that he’d inadvertently let slip that time at the restaurant—a glimpse of something colder and foreign as his eyes went dark for just a moment. And maybe it’s not Daichi’s place to know about that side of Kuroo—but that’s the thing, isn’t it? Kuroo wants to know all the sharp edges of Daichi’s psyche, and then vanishes when it’s Daichi’s turn to do the same. 

Kuroo is kind, yes, but lately Daichi feels a lot more like he did that day in his own apartment, some unfamiliar kind of dread swirling in his chest as he stares down at the shiny new laptop that he hadn’t asked for. 

He’s already further down the rabbit hole that he cares to allow himself for now, so Daichi takes a breath, stuffs it in deep as best as he can, and returns to what they’ve established to be safe and expected between the two of them.

“Fine,” he says, leaning forward to lick into Kuroo’s mouth, “show me what you did on the ferris wheel ride, then.”

The smile that spreads across Kuroo’s face as he tips Daichi’s backwards onto the bed sends hummingbird flutters into Daichi’s stomach, an occurrence so common as of late that he definitely doesn’t think means anything good.

“With pleasure,” Kuroo murmurs, dipping his head low to acquiesce.

—

So in the end, it’s about discipline—and if nothing else, Daichi is good at discipline. 

It’s about setting rigid boundaries and abiding by them—that means refusing to sleep over at Kuroo’s place, no matter how boneless and blissed out from orgasm he is, and no matter how much Kuroo tries to tempt him into staying with promises of food or more orgasms. After all, sleeping over means wearing Kuroo’s shirts that smell like him and falling asleep in Kuroo’s arms. It means waking up to Kuroo’s ridiculous sleeping position and feeling undeniably _fond_ at the sight. It means bearing witness to how soft and almost dopey Kuroo is before his first cup of coffee in the morning as he shuffles around in a pair of grey sweatpants that hang low on his hips and his big round glasses that slip down his nose no matter how many times he shoves them back up. 

Long story short: sleeping over means _trouble_.

“It’s so late, Sawamura-kun,” Kuroo complains, lower lip sticking out adorably, which makes Daichi want to lean in for a nip. “Why don’t you stay over? I’ll drive you to school in the morning before I head to the firm.”

“No, not tonight,” Daichi says plainly, pointedly refraining from making eye contact lest he give Kuroo more chances to charm his way into getting what he wants. “I left my USB stick at home, and I need it for my lecture tomorrow.”

“Well, let me at least take you ho—”

“I already called an Uber.” Daichi interrupts, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and making a beeline for the front door. “Stop sniveling, Kuroo-san. It’s unbecoming of an adult. I’ll see you later.”

He steps out the door, heart thumping hard in his chest, and nods resolutely as he makes his way to the elevator. The thing is, he believes Kuroo now when he says he enjoys spending time with Daichi, though the _why_ factor is still a different story entirely. They have good compatibility, both as unlikely friends and in bed, but it seems clear to Daichi that Kuroo doesn’t have any intentions to take it further than that, which is okay. 

Daichi just...needs to put up some defences, that’s all.

The next few weeks find him busy with school anyway, which serves as a great excuse to keep his distance while he powers through the last of his exams and assignments as well as dutifully carrying out his shifts at Night Owl. It’s not that he’s avoiding Kuroo _per se_ , but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t need a little time to regroup himself and nip whatever was starting to sprout in the bud. 

Who can blame him? Kuroo is—he’s, well, _Kuroo_ , and Daichi is only human. There’s only so much he can do when Kuroo shows up at his apartment on a Saturday afternoon, brows furrowing the minute Daichi answers the door.

“Sawamura-kun, when’s the last time you _slept_?” He asks, taking the opportunity to step through the door while Daichi’s still frozen with surprise. “Your eyebags look awful.”

“Gee, you really know how to flatter a guy,” Daichi grumbles after he’s collected himself. “It’s almost the end of the semester. You know how it is.”

Kuroo makes his way into Daichi’s apartment, setting down a plastic bag on the counter before padding around and opening the blinds and windows, making Daichi squint at the bright light. He’d been holed up in his room writing his thesis all night—come to think of it, when’s the last time he— 

As if on cue, Daichi’s stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud growl, making him flush red before sheepishly placing a hand on his belly. Right. He’d forgotten to eat breakfast. There’s probably a few onigiri in the fridge that he’d bought from the convenience store a couple days back. Hopefully they haven't expired.

“Sheesh. You university students,” Kuroo chides with a roll of his eyes, gathering up stray dishes and cups strewn around the room. “Lunch is on the counter for you.”

“For me?” Daichi blinks owlishly, pulling a hot packed lunch from the plastic bag. “Kuroo-san, you didn’t have to—”

“Just eat.”

After a moment of hesitation, Daichi sits himself down and opens the container. He didn’t realize how famished he’d been until the fragrant smell wafts out of the box, and he quickly tucks into what may be the best packed lunch he’s ever tasted in his life, tears of gratitude nearly beading in the corner of his eyes as he scarfs down rice and pork ribs at an inhumane pace. 

“Don’t choke. You’re going to make yourself sick if you eat that fast.” Kuroo sets a glass of water down on the table next to Daichi before heading to the sink and wordlessly tackling the pile of dishes that Daichi hadn’t gotten around to doing yet. Within moments he’s done, just as Daichi finishes his lunch and sets his chopsticks down with a satisfied sigh.

“Thank you, Kuroo-san. I feel like I’ve come back to life again.”

In lieu of responding, Kuroo simply hums while wiping his hands on a dish towel, fixing Daichi with a fond smile as he pads into the living area and takes a seat on the couch, extending his hand towards where Daichi is sitting. 

“Hey,” he says, voice soft and sweet, “come here?”

As good as the sex is, it’s moments like these where Daichi really feels like Kuroo’s managed to crack his chest wide open with nothing more than an upturning of his lips and the curl of his fingertips—because Daichi looks and sees Kuroo’s smile and his heart might as well have plopped right on the hardwood floor under his feet. He wants to go so badly, and almost does on instinct alone—but he recalls his prior resolution and stays where he is, hands tensing nervously against the surface of his kitchen counter.

“Ah, sorry, Kuroo-san. But I don’t think I have the energy to mess around right now.”

To that Kuroo just laughs, his eyes crinkling in the corners with bemusement. “Goodness me, Sawamura-kun, someone’s mind is in the gutter. It’s nothing like that, I promise. Just come here for a sec, darling.”

Daichi eyes him dubiously for a moment before standing and making his way over, gingerly touching his fingertips to Kuroo’s cold, upturned palm.

“Sit with me for awhile.” His long fingers twine together with Daichi’s, pulling him down onto the seat as he brings his arm over Daichi’s shoulder to tug him in close, tucking his chin over Daichi’s head. “I’ve missed you.”

He says it so easily, damn him, his voice trailing off into an almost-whisper that Daichi wants to breathe in. Somehow this is almost doing worse things to Daichi’s heart because it feels even more intimate than sex. Kuroo smells like his usual cologne—cinnamon and leather—and he nuzzles back when Daichi turns his face into the crook of Kuroo’s neck, relishing in the way Kuroo is soothing rubbing circles on his back before moving his hand upwards to knead at the tight knots in Daichi’s shoulders. 

“Feels good,” Daichi murmurs, smiling against the rumble of Kuroo’s chuckle as he continues his ministrations. Despite all his efforts, Daichi can’t help but want to press further into Kuroo’s warmth and stay there until he’s asked to leave—if not for the fact that being asked to leave, Daichi thinks, when Kuroo is the one who’s asking, would be harder to bear than never having stayed at all. 

Safety has never been something that Daichi thought he’d want someone else to provide. After all, he’s very much capable of taking care of himself—but Kuroo’s arms feel _safe_ in a different way than Daichi ever thought someone could give. Kuroo feels safe like letting out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding. Safe like a mug of hot cocoa made with real milk chocolate. Safe like care given with no strings attached, and nothing asked for in return. 

Closing his eyes to the fading hum of a slightly off-tune song, Daichi is thinking about how that’s exactly the problem—because he really wouldn’t mind if Kuroo chose to attach some strings. Whether it be one, or ten, or a hundred, or even more than that. 

—

The sunset is glowing bright pink across his eyelids when Daichi blinks awake, lifting his hand to block out the offending light. He sits up groggily, looking around to realize that he’s still curled up on the couch, the warm body that he’d fallen asleep on hours earlier now replaced with a pillow and blanket.

“Kuroo-san?” He calls out, voice thick with sleep, and slowly rises on his feet to wander towards the kitchen in search of Kuroo. What he finds instead of the real person is a note stuck to the fridge, written in a slightly messy scrawl.

_Sawamura-kun,_

_I had a meeting to get to, but you looked so comfortable, I didn’t want to wake you. I’ll leave your house key in the mailbox after I lock up. Make sure you eat dinner, okay? Coffee isn’t a substitute for meals, you know._

_Kuroo_

_PS - I threw out those expired onigiri in the fridge. Don’t tell me you were actually planning on eating them._

Daichi runs his fingers over the writing, suddenly feeling the awful ache of loneliness as he stands there by himself in his kitchen. He wonders what face Kuroo had been making while writing the note, wonders if he’d felt just as lonely having to leave Daichi behind, wonders if he’d felt anything at all when he was buying the packed lunch with Daichi in mind. 

But most of all he wonders if all of this is simply out of some sort of misguided obligation from an elder—because Kuroo comes as he likes and says what he likes before leaving just as quickly, as if he were taking care of a stray dog on the side of the road. Kindness without commitment is full of empty words, Daichi wants to tell him, lips curving up into a bitter smile, a storm brewing in his chest the more he stares at Kuroo’s scrawl. 

After all, when Kuroo talks about the future, there are no traces of where the two of them exist together—not even with whatever unconventional dynamic they have now. He never makes plans with Daichi more than a couple days in advance, as if at any point in time he thinks they may just never talk again. But he also shows up at Daichi’s apartment without warning, hot lunch in hand and _I miss yous_ on his lips. Kuroo knows exactly how to remain just far enough to stay in sight while also beyond reach.

 _You’re so cruel, Kuroo-san,_ Daichi thinks, as he slips the note out from under its magnet and slowly crumples it in his fist, gaze lingering on the paper peeking out from between his fingers for a solemn moment before letting the wadded ball fall into the trash.

—

He doesn’t talk to Kuroo again for the rest of the week aside from a quick text immediately after the fact to thank him again for bringing lunch. It’s the final stretch before his exams and Daichi throws himself into his studies, trying his best not to think about how much he misses the way Kuroo smells and how comfortable the shirts he used to steal from Kuroo were. Sometimes in the middle of the night, Daichi takes a study break and heats milk in a pot on the stove, melting real milk chocolate into it and drinks it in small sips, savouring the sweet, creamy flavour as it coats his tongue. 

One evening after lecture, Daichi is taking the stairs up to the fourth floor of his building and he notices that there’s light spilling into the dim hallway from the gap underneath his door. Furthermore, he finds that it’s unlocked when he tries the handle.

“Suga,” he calls sternly as he steps into the entryway, “how many times have I told you to remember to lock the door when you come ov—”

It all happens very quickly—one minute he’s bent over untying his shoes and then he’s crashing sideways into the wall the next, his head barely missing the edge of the shoe rack as a weight is thrown against him _hard_. The world spins above him for a few beats before he’s able to get his wits about him, and he looks down incredulously at the head of silver hair buried into his chest, shaking with muffled sobs and blubbering that is only half intelligible.

Daichi’s first instinct is _murder_.

“...did he dump you?” It’s not a hard puzzle to figure out—if something had happened with a family or friend, Suga would have called him immediately instead of waiting for him at his apartment. The sobs turn into full on banshee wailing, which answers his question well enough. Daichi sighs, threading his fingers into Suga’s hair and gently smoothing down the unruly tuft that sticks up no matter how much product Suga uses to tame it. “That bastard. I’ll kill him.”

The problem with Suga—which also happens to be the best thing about him—is that he loves with his whole damn heart, and there isn’t a man alive who will ever deserve him. Especially not in Daichi’s eyes. He takes break-ups hard, although he never lets himself wallow for long. 

“C’mon, let’s get up,” Daichi murmurs once the crying subsides into soft hiccups. “I think I have ice cream, and we can put on a horror movie—as long as it doesn’t have any gross eye stuff.”

Suga sniffles, finally unearthing his blotchy red face from Daichi’s ruined shirt as he wipes at his nose with his sleeve. “...but the gross eye stuff is the best part.”

“Fine. There can be _one_ scene with gross eye stuff, and it has to be before Asahi gets here. Last time he had nightmares for a damn week.”

That manages to get a watery laugh out of Suga, who stands and offers a hand to Daichi before pulling him to his feet. 

The night ends with the both of them wrapped together in a blanket on Daichi’s couch, eating double fudge ice cream straight out of the carton while they watch a gory slasher film that has Suga perking up almost immediately. They’re nearing the end of the movie by the time Asahi comes over, armed with tissues, beer, and more snacks.

“He gave me the old ‘ _I want to stay friends_ ’,” Suga says, two beers in and already turning red in the face, angrily gesturing with his half empty beer bottle as some of it sloshes out of the lip and over his hand. “I bought hima genuine leather jacket from Italy for Christmas, and then he wants to dump me and stay friends? Like hell. I told him where to stick it.”

Daichi snorts, rolling his eyes as he chews on some salted peanuts. “Not the leather jacket, I hope.”

“Why not? Maybe I’ll make a voodoo doll and curse him with a bowel obstruction.”

The genuine, scandalized gasp that Asahi lets out makes Suga sputter through a mouthful of beer, some of it bubbling out of his nose. Daichi frowns and throws some napkins at his face.

“Guys,” Suga says suddenly, his voice deadly serious as he sets his beer bottle down with such heaviness that Daichi instantly gets a sense of foreboding in his chest, “I wanna go clubbing.”

“Absolutely not.”

“ _Guys!_ You’re not _allowed_ to say no, you’re my best friends, and I’m nursing a broken heart! It’s, like, a _rule_ that you have to accompany me while I make a complete fool of myself in public. Or do you really not want to be there while I go through the inevitable shameless sluttery post-break up phase? Hm? What if something happens to me?” 

The accusatory argument flies out of Suga’s mouth, only briefly interjected by Asahi’s widened eyes as he squeaks _s-shameless slu—?!_ before continuing as if he hadn’t heard anything. 

“It’s an important part of the healing process. I need to regain my autonomy, rediscover my sense of identity without him. Collect new experiences and memories that don’t have him in them. Do you not want that for me? I thought you guys cared—”

Unable to listen any longer, Daichi clamps a hand over Suga’s mouth, the vein in his temple throbbing as he grits his teeth. “Okay. Okay, I get it,” he hisses, narrowing his eyes at Suga’s smug grin. “ _Rediscover your sense of identity?_ Really, Suga? You dated him for, like, 4 months.”

“Everyone has the right to heal at their own pace,” he sniffs, turning his nose up in the air primly. “I won’t let you invalidate my pain because of how _you_ think I should cope.”

Daichi groans, sliding to bury his face in his arms. “I loathe the fact that you’re majoring in psychotherapy, Suga. I really, really do.”

“Please don’t punch anyone in the face this time.” Asahi already looks like he’s taken half a step into the light with how much dread has filled his pallid face. “Or, uh, con anyone out of their money. Which then leads to you punching someone in the face.”

“ _First of all_ , I did not _con anyone out of their money_! It was an honest mistake—”

“I’ll go on a few conditions,” Daichi cuts in, leveling Suga with a stare that could stop a storm in its tracks, “one, we get to decide when to leave. Two, you go home with one of us at the end of the night. And three,” he continues, lifting a third finger with complete and utter seriousness, “so help me god, Suga, if I see you within 50 metres of any of the dance platforms, I will haul you out of there like a sack of potatoes. Count on it.”

The sunny smile that graces Suga’s face is almost enough to make up for the massive headache that Daichi knows is coming.

Almost.

Saturday night comes around faster than Daichi is ready for. Suga insists on pre-drinking at his apartment, and since Asahi taps out after the third round—rightfully assuming that one of them ought to stay semi-sober to keep Suga in line—Daichi is the one who has to match him shot for shot. Suga’s choice of drink is tequila, otherwise known as liquid death, but Daichi finds that he is in a far better head space than he has been all week by the time the three of them are taking the subway terminal stairs to brave the chilly downtown streets.

It certainly looks like a club that Suga would like—loud, crowded, with dirt cheap drinks that Suga manages to get for free anyway by batting his eyelashes at the nearest available chump. Daichi certainly isn’t one for dancing, but he’s accompanied Suga on enough post-break up nights out that he knows he can’t get away with being a wallflower. Besides—he can’t deny that it’s been awhile since he was able to let loose and have a good time with his best friends. 

Cheek to cheek with Asahi, hands linked with Suga, they sing and drink and dance until sweat is dripping down Daichi’s neck and his head feels like it’s been stuffed full with cotton balls—but the horrible music empties his mind of all the worries that have been plaguing him for days now, and he happily focuses on moving his body to the beat and nothing else. 

Although they were having a great time while it lasted, as many club nights tend to go, it ends with Suga throwing up into the toilet and Asahi crammed into the stall with him rubbing his back and making sure he stays upright.

So all in all, a successful night, really.

“I’ll go call an Uber,” Daichi slurs, jerking his thumb towards the door. “You got him?”

“Yeah, we’ll meet you out front once he’s gotten it all out.” More retching sounds emanate from inside the stall and Daichi takes that as his cue to exit so that they have a ride prepared by the time Suga’s cleaned up. He wades through the unruly crowd, feeling slightly unsteady on his feet as he pushes his way to the door. A burst of chilly wind rushes inside when he steps out and it makes him shiver, but it feels good on his feverish skin.

Stepping to the side, he pulls out his phone and taps into the app, trying his best to squint down at the blurred letters on his screen and order a ride home. It’s then, while he’s concentrating on his task that a figure takes the opportunity to slip into the space next to him, stepping closer than necessary with a smarmy smile that makes Daichi frown when he looks up.

“Hey there,” he says, “you alone, big guy?”

“No, my friends are inside. I’m ordering us a ride home.” Daichi does his best to inject as much disinterest into his voice as possible, returning his focus to communicating with the driver to let him know where to pick them up. Despite clearly having been brushed off, the man isn’t deterred in the least. If anything, his curiosity seems piqued when Daichi meets his gaze again to fix him with a raised brow.

“Oh? So you’re just heading home alone, huh? That seems kind of lonely, don’tcha think?” The man steps in even closer, grin growing when Daichi opts not to step back, which he seems to take as an invitation to reach forward and place a hand on Daichi’s hip.

“Not really,” Daichi says, lowering a pointed eye to the man’s hand, considering for a brief moment whether or not it warrants spraining a few of the man’s fingers as a lesson for the future on touching someone without permission. “Sounds much better than a quickie with some one pump chump who can’t take a hint, anyway.”

“Ooh, the mouth on you. Gotta say, I don’t mind it.”

Pushy. Daichi hates pushy guys—ones like this most of all, drunk and stinking of cheap axe body spray, leaning in close to puff his sour beer breath close to Daichi’s ear as he whispers filthy promises that he likely can’t keep.

“C’mon, baby,” he insists, hands snaking around Daichi’s waist. “Lemme show you a good time.”

The pet name sounds positively cringey in this stranger’s mouth, not at all how Daichi remembers it to feel, and it makes his stomach feel like it’s coiling into itself with disgust. But at the same time, there’s a tiny itch that’s finally being scratched—to have someone _pushing_ for him, to have someone _want_ him so explicitly. Daichi wants to be desired this openly, and though the attention isn’t coming from the right person, he’s ashamed to admit that for a single moment, his defense weakens.

He smirks, tilting his head coyly as he sidles against the man’s hands. It goes without saying that he doesn’t actually plan on going home with this brute, but what’s a little harmless flirting? Especially when whatever he and Kuroo have together is certainly not _exclusive_ , and the word isn’t thought without at least a little bit of bitterness tainting its edges. The alcohol works against his inhibitions, fueled by his repressed frustrations, and it makes Daichi let out a giddy laugh despite himself when the man grips his hips and tugs him until their bodies are flush against one another.

So Daichi loops his arms around the guy’s neck, let’s him whisper a few more salacious things into his ear. As things tend to go, it’s then, right when he’s getting tired of whatever pointless fun this was while it lasted, that he hears a familiar voice amidst the bursts of loud music as the club goers continue streaming in and out of the door.

He blinks, no longer paying any attention to the man currently trying to cop a feel while Daichi’s zoned out, and squints toward the group of men smoking by the curbside in front of the fancy bar next door. One of them lifts his cigarette to his lips, says something that makes the rest of the men laugh, and just happens to glance Daichi’s way right as he takes a drag.

“Kuroo-san?” Daichi mumbles dazedly, noting the brief flash of surprise in Kuroo’s widened eyes as Daichi moves to untangle himself, already scrambling to think of how to explain the situation. After all, they may not be dating, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t some sort of unspoken rule in place, and the last thing he’d want is for Kuroo to be upset. 

But that’s when Kuroo looks away.

He looks away.

He saw Daichi flirting with another dude outside of a club, and _he looked away_.

Oh. 

“Daichi, did you call the Uber—huh? Who’s this?” Asahi appears with Suga all but draped over his shoulder, brows raised when he notices that Daichi isn’t alone. Luckily for Daichi, the man takes one look at Asahi’s towering stature and immediately backs off with his palms up before making a quick break for it back into the club.

“Uber’s here,” Daichi says dazedly, eyes still burning a hole into Kuroo’s back as he leads his friends over to the street where a black sedan has pulled over. Asahi lowers Suga into the back seat first before climbing in after him, and when he turns to Daichi expecting him to follow suit, that’s exactly when Daichi makes up his mind in a flourish of drunken, impulsive pettiness.

“You guys go ahead. I have another ride home,” Daichi says, shutting the car door and stepping back onto the curb.

“Wh—Daichi!?”

“Text me when you get home!” He calls over his shoulder, turning on his heel before marching resolutely towards the circle of men chatting by the public ashtray.

Kuroo looks stunning in his tapered charcoal suit. His is hair brushed back with some sort of product and his cheeks are dusted with the faintest tinge of red—either from alcohol or from the cold, Daichi can’t be sure, but what he does know is that the slow lick of desire is intricately entwined with whatever petulant fury sprouted the minute Kuroo had met his eyes and turned away earlier. He wants Kuroo on him just as much as he wants to never see him again. It’s an internal struggle that he doesn’t quite have the brainpower to sort through right now.

Because right now, Daichi is drunk and Kuroo is wearing a charcoal suit that cinches tight around his tiny waist and god damn, Daichi wants his hands on it as soon as possible.

So he marches right up to Kuroo’s back and taps him on the shoulder, putting on his most pleasant smile when Kuroo turns around wide-eyed. 

“Hello, Kuroo-san,” Daichi says, not missing the way Kuroo’s eyes flit to where Daichi’s lingering hand squeezes Kuroo’s arm in an uncharacteristic show of affection. “I thought that was you! What a coincidence to bump into you here.”

“Sawamura-kun.” It takes only a moment before Kuroo regains control of his usual self-assured confidence, snubbing out his cigarette before turning to give Daichi a grin. “My, my, I didn’t peg you to be the clubbing type. Are you having a good night?”

“Mmhm.” Daichi hums. He tips his head while letting his eyes go half-lidded, baring the side of his neck knowing full well that Kuroo loves to put his lips there, smirking when Kuroo’s eyes inevitably drop to the expanse of smooth skin. “ _Such_ a good night. I feel so good.”

The alcohol is doing a good job of making all his whims easier to manage. Usually he’s too aware of how he should be acting in order to live up to the proper, stand-up young man that his parents raised him as—certainly too proud to be drunkenly coming on to his friends with benefits 8 years his senior in front of his colleagues. But right now he feels warm and molten and he wants Kuroo’s lips on his so badly that it’s almost instinct for him to reach forward and hook one finger through Kuroo’s belt loop with a knowing smile.

“Well, sorry to disturb you then, Kuroo-san. I saw you and just couldn’t help myself. But I’ll let you get back to your friends now.”

It’s a lure with a fish hook attached, and an obvious one at that. Daichi knows—and more importantly, _Kuroo_ knows he knows—that there is not a chance in hell Kuroo would ever be able to stomach watching Daichi walk off into the night while he was alone and drunk.

“Give me a moment, Sawamura-kun. I’ll take you home.”

Daichi doesn’t even bother wasting Kuroo’s time further by refusing. He simply steps to the side, rocking back and forth on his heels feeling slightly smug as he watches Kuroo shake hands with the other suit-clad men before joining Daichi with raised brows, looking a mix of impressed and exasperated.

“Really, Sawamura-kun,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Just when I think I’ve got you figured out, you manage to continue surprising me.”

He gestures Daichi forward with a hand on the small of his back, ever the gentlemen, but it’s obvious that he’s got something on his mind when he doesn’t say a word as Daichi moves to interlock their fingers as they walk. Any other time he’d have some sweet words to offer, or he’d pull Daichi a little closer and press a kiss to the crown of Daichi’s head. That’s Kuroo’s whole schtick, after all—he’s always there, ready with pet names and comforting touches and lavish gifts, but at the same time Daichi has never felt like Kuroo is close enough to have in the way that Daichi wants him.

They reach Kuroo’s car, parked in the corner of a paid lot on a smaller side street. He wordlessly opens the passenger door for Daichi first before rounding the other side to get in behind the wheel. Kuroo pulls the door shut and turns to say something, his lips parted just slightly when Daichi leans in to kiss him, hands immediately moving to cup Kuroo’s cheeks and tug him in closer. He tastes like smoke and spearmint gum, because he chews gum when he drives to meet clients instead of drinking, and Daichi licks feverishly into his mouth to get a better taste of it.

Kuroo kisses him back, even though he’s probably mad, even though Daichi has been nothing but selfish for the past few weeks, even though they aren’t exclusive, and even though he doesn’t want Daichi the way Daichi wants him.

Kuroo kisses him back and Daichi feels like he wants to cry.

He does his best to clamber over the centre console into Kuroo’s lap instead, because he desperately needs something else to focus on. Kuroo helpfully shifts his seat backwards as far as it can go, and after a few moments of inelegant adjustment, Daichi is winding his arms around Kuroo’s neck with his legs awkwardly bent on each side of Kuroo’s thighs, probably leaving shoe scuffs on the leather interior of Kuroo’s very expensive car.

“Kuroo-san,” Daichi murmurs, wriggling his hips. “Will you fuck me?”

The groan that rumbles out from Kuroo’s lips as he tips his head back against the headrest makes Daichi’s heart jump in his chest. Kuroo peers up at him hungrily, as if he were imagining what fucking Daichi would be like—because they haven’t done that yet, but Daichi’s been ready for so long, and he’d long known that the best and worst thing about Kuroo is that he never does anything unless Daichi asks for it.

And to date, Daichi hasn’t asked—maybe in some lingering hope that Kuroo would want him enough to take instead of give, for once.

But then he parts his lips, and his answer isn’t what Daichi expects.

“No,” he says slowly, “I don’t think so.”

Daichi blinks in surprise, pulling back to look at Kuroo properly. He’d known Kuroo would never touch him unless he asked for it, but he truly didn’t think he’d be outright rejected. Now that he thinks about it, he can’t recall a time when Kuroo has ever told him _no_ before—not seriously, anyway. 

“Do you think you deserve it?” Kuroo murmurs, leaning in to press his mouth against Daichi’s neck, exactly the part that Daichi had bared to him earlier. Before Daichi can respond, his words catch in his throat and come out in a stuttered gasp as Kuroo’s teeth sink into his skin, hard enough that it hurts, just a little, just enough to make his blood thrum. “After that little show you put on earlier? Hm?”

Even though Kuroo’s words come out in his usual teasing lilt, Daichi doesn’t think he’s imagining the hint of a sharp edge hidden between Kuroo’s lips. There’s something different about the way Kuroo narrows his eyes, and Daichi can’t suppress the full body shiver under the weight of his stare when Kuroo’s hand comes up to wrap gently around the base of Daichi’s throat.

“You want me to fuck you, baby?” The pads of his fingers feel hot against Daichi’s throat, even though Kuroo’s hands are always cold, and an involuntary whimper stutters out from Daichi’s mouth as he nods slowly while holding Kuroo’s heated gaze. “I could do that. I could fuck you so well, sweetheart. Bet you’d like that, mm? Slowly, at first, because I know that wouldn’t be enough for you. I want you to beg for it. Would you do that for me, darling? Would you be a good boy and beg to get fucked?”

Oh, god. Daichi can’t stop himself from rolling his hips with a groan as Kuroo continues talking, the pressure building in his chest until he can feel his heart pounding in his damn windpipe, and he’s so turned on he thinks he might be getting lightheaded.

“Yes. I’ll be good,” he croaks, and he tries to lean forward to give Kuroo another kiss but finds that he can’t because Kuroo’s hand on his neck is there to stop him, somehow managing to demand obedience without uttering a single command.

“But you haven’t been, have you, sweetheart? I wonder what my colleagues think, seeing a pretty thing like you stumbling up to me so late at night. I’m never going to hear the end of it.”

Daichi rolls his hips again impatiently, grinding himself down onto Kuroo’s leg as he bites his lip, fingers threading into the soft hair on the back of Kuroo’s head. He can feel how hard Kuroo’s cock is through his dress pants, and the memory of how it tastes makes Daichi’s mouth water. Salt skin and musk and drooling spit and that bitter aftertaste that makes Daichi’s toes curl with anticipation.

“Kuroo-san, please—“ he pants, shamelessly rucking his clothed cock against Kuroo’s thigh, “I won’t do it again. I’ll be good for you, I promise.”

“Oh, on the contrary. I love that they all know you’re mine. Are you sure you want me? I’ll ruin you for anyone else, you know—wanna wreck you until you feel where I stretched you open for days after. Is that what you want?”

It’s all Daichi can do to nod frantically, jaw dropping open as he imagines Kuroo’s thick cock splitting him open, filling him up until he can feel it in the pit of his stomach, until all he can think is how very _full_ he is. 

“So let me hear you say it.” Bruising fingers pinch his chin, thumb stroking his bottom lip. “Tell me what you want with this pretty little mouth.”

Even if Daichi were above begging while sober, he certainly isn’t right now—not when he wants to be carved out this badly, not when Kuroo is looking at him like that with his eyes predatory and all but glowing even in the dim moonlight, and not when it feels this good to part his lips and let all the words come tumbling off of his clumsy tongue. 

“Fuck me, Kuroo-san,” he sobs, tipping forward to lean his forehead against Kuroo’s. “I want it— _ah!_ Wanna feel you, wanna take you ‘til I can’t say anything but your name—“

Daichi thinks about Kuroo fucking him from behind, owning him, possessive hands pressing him down into the bed until he feels well and truly claimed. His undulations pick up in pace but drop in fluidity, shamelessly rubbing himself against Kuroo again and again as Kuroo spurs him on, whispering filthy promises in his ear that Daichi knows he is fully capable of fulfilling. 

He doesn’t know what it is, whether it’s the alcohol in his system or the fact that it’s been weeks since Kuroo last touched him properly, but it only takes a few more clumsy bucks of his hips before he comes in his pants, the aftershocks hitting him so hard he sobs and sinks his teeth into his own fist. Kuroo holds him close as he rides out his orgasm, murmuring words of praise into his ear until Daichi slumps forward, breathing heavily and feeling like he’s floating beyond the clouds. 

“So gorgeous when you come, darling,” Kuroo coos, shushing the soft whines that Daichi manages to let out when Kuroo strokes his hair. “Come to my place. I don’t want to send you home alone when you’re drunk. Is that okay?”

Daichi thinks Kuroo could ask him anything right now and he would agree. Dumbly, Daichi nods with his face still buried in the crook of Kuroo’s neck, and after a few moments, Kuroo all but lifts him over the centre console and back into the passenger seat, leaning over to pull the seat belt taut over his limp body. 

It doesn’t take long before the pleasurable floaty feeling of post-orgasmic bliss and the dizzy haze of the shots he’d taken back at the club merge to become sleepiness with just a hint of background nausea swirling in his belly. His eyelids feel like they’re made of lead and his head is starting to throb, so despite his best attempts to stay awake, Daichi finds himself drifting off as he watches the street lights outside illuminate the sharp angles of Kuroo’s handsome face. 

The image is reminiscent of the first night that he met Kuroo—those passing street lights, the smell of Kuroo’s cologne, and the way Kuroo glances over, eyes softening when he sees Daichi blearily peeking up at him through his lashes.

He reaches over, gently pressing the backs of his fingers to Daichi’s heated cheek, and Daichi closes his eyes, revelling in the sweet, lingering touch.

  
  


—

Daichi wakes up in Kuroo’s bed with a wicked hangover, fresh clothes, and skin that’d been wiped clean of any evidence from the night before. He doesn’t remember getting from the car to Kuroo’s apartment, but throws his arm over his eyes with a groan when he realizes that Kuroo must have had to carry him in, change his clothes, and then to top it all off, wipe down his mess.

But then he opens his eyes, stares up at the ceiling, and remembers what had happened _before_ all of that—the guilt that he’d felt when Kuroo’s eyes met his while he was in the arms of another man, and the way Kuroo had looked away, impassive and distant. 

Daichi sighs, gives himself another moment to collect his emotions, and swings his legs over the edge of the bed to get to his feet. After checking his phone and wincing guiltily at all the missed calls and texts from a frantic Asahi, he texts back and apologizes for running off, assuring his friend that he's okay and that he's safe.

He finds Kuroo in the kitchen, humming along to an old pop song on the radio as he expertly shakes a pan full of fried rice. 

“Well well, look who’s up! It’s already past 3 in the afternoon, you know,” Kuroo says jovially, snickering at the dead eyed glare that Daichi shoots him while making a beeline for the shelf where he knows Kuroo keeps his aspirin.

“I beg of you, please do try and keep your cackling to a dull roar.”

“Goodness me, is baby grumpy this morning?” 

Pills and water downed, Daichi shuffles over to lean against the counter and watch Kuroo divvy the fried rice into two portions, one bowl piled noticeably higher than the other. When he finishes, he gestures for Daichi to take the larger serving. 

“You hungry?” Kuroo asks with a smirk, knowing that there’s hardly a moment in time when Daichi _isn’t_ hungry, and Daichi does his best to look displeased despite his mouth watering at the delicious smell.

“Before that, do you have a new toothbrush I can use?”

“Bottom left drawer in the bathroom, help yourself.” Carrying his rice over to the couch, Kuroo takes a seat and picks up the remote, turning the television on and flicking through movie titles on the browsing screen. “Wanna watch something while we eat?”

“Anything,” Daichi calls, heading into the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. The person that stares back at Daichi in the mirror has definitely seen better days—there are dark circles under his eyes and his face is horrendously puffy after drinking so much, but by the time he steps out of the shower after a quick rinse and finishes brushing his teeth, Daichi is feeling—and smelling—like a brand new person.

The beginning of what looks like a drama is playing on the television when Daichi returns to the living room. He tucks his legs under him as he all but inhales his food. It’s probably not hard to tell that Daichi’s mind isn’t exactly focused on the movie—considering Kuroo doesn’t say anything even after he sets his empty bowl on the coffee table in front of them. Daichi usually has to shush him at least a few times whenever they watch films together because Kuroo can never help but make snide remarks or dumb jokes about the unrealistic plot, or the quintessential forced romance that lacks chemistry and development.

But this time they find themselves sitting in silence, a sizable gap between them as the movie’s suspenseful background music fills the room, and it’s only after a good amount of time has passed that Daichi decisively reaches forward for the remote to pause the movie.

“Hey! I was watching that!” 

Daichi snorts, tossing the remote to the side before crawling and swinging his legs over Kuroo’s hips, straddling him. “No you weren’t,” he murmurs, thumbs running careful strokes across Kuroo’s jawline. “Besides, we have unfinished business to take care of.”

Surprisingly, the way Kuroo’s jaw tenses in response makes him look almost nervous—but he doesn’t give anything else away when his fingers find their way to Daichi’s waist and his voice is back to its usual teasing lilt when he says, “oh? Now what would that be, I wonder?”

“Do you want to fuck me?” Daichi continues to caress Kuroo’s jawline slowly, his voice coming out softer than he’d intended. He wills himself not to react when Kuroo grins as if it could serve as an answer in and of itself.

And that’s the thing, though—it can’t, can it?

“Is that what you want me to do?” 

“That’s not what I asked, Kuroo-san.” By now, Daichi is more than familiar with Kuroo’s M.O., and he’s determined not to get sidetracked this time. Kuroo’s brows furrow slightly, likely sensing that there’s something different about the tone of Daichi’s voice, or maybe from the seriousness in the way Daichi’s gaze doesn’t waver when he says, “I asked you what _you_ want.”

At this, the tension in Kuroo’s jaw is back, and for once he looks unsure when he goes to speak. 

“I want whatever you want,” he says, clearly trying one last time to shake Daichi’s resolve, but all it does is add to the heaviness in Daichi’s chest. Despite his best efforts, Daichi’s poker face breaks at last and his face crumples, conveying his worries in all the ways that he hasn’t been able to bring himself to say out loud.

“...you’re always like this.” He hates the way his voice quivers, and he lowers his hands to clutch at the front of Kuroo’s shirt, fingertips shaking from the frustration that he’s trying to keep contained. “I said it from the very beginning, didn’t I? I don’t need your tepid kindness, Kuroo-san. Not if it’s going to hurt this much.”

“Sawamura-ku—”

“No. Listen to me.” Kuroo looks stunned when Daichi fixes him with a glare, his eyes filled with such obvious hurt that it knocks the breath from Kuroo’s lungs and leaves him lost for words. “You’re right here in front of me, and yet it always feels like you’re miles away. I barely know who you are, Kuroo-san, and that’s painful for me,you know? I feel so _alone_ when I’m with you, which is why if this is all just some silly game to you, let’s just end it already, okay? Because it’s—this loneliness—it’s unbearable. I can’t take it. I don’t want to anymore.”

It comes rushing out all at once, the worries, the fear, the pain—and Daichi is left shaking under Kuroo’s touch, because even after all that—even after everything he’s said—he doesn’t want to lose Kuroo. Kuroo, the kind stranger who was there for Daichi when he’d needed it most. Kuroo, the handsome, suave lawyer who showers his friends and family with lavish gifts and yet still uses a ratty dollar store headband with cat ears every morning when he washes his face. Kuroo, who always makes sure Daichi has a ride home after his bartending shifts because he insists that it’s too late for him to be walking home alone.

He’s loved having Kuroo in his life—but just to have and not to hold isn’t quite enough for Daichi anymore, and he knows he isn’t exactly being fair. But the heart wants what it wants, as the saying goes.

And it’s okay if his heart and Kuroo’s don’t want the same thing. It is.

It’s just—Daichi needs to make it clear.

“...a silly game?” Kuroo speaks so suddenly that it makes Daichi flinch, even though his words are soft. He wraps his hand around one of Daichi’s wrists, almost too tightly, and pulls until Daichi has to let go of his shirt. For the first time since Daichi met him, Kuroo sounds angry, his voice low and muted like the calm before the storm. It makes the hairs on Daichi’s neck stand on end. “You think this is a game to me, Sawamura-kun? You have no idea— _no idea_ —”

A burst of heat sears the inside of Daichi’s throat, popping coals that light the inside of his mouth on fire. He yanks his wrist out of Kuroo’s grip, climbing out of Kuroo’s lap to stand and ball his hands into fists by his sides. “I have no idea because you won’t tell me! All you ever show me is from a safe distance, always so calm and collected. What am I supposed to think?”

Kuroo’s eyes are wide when he follows suit, standing and taking a step towards Daichi, and Daichi doesn’t step back. This is what Daichi has wanted from Kuroo all this time—genuine emotion, a bone that he can catch and hold on to, but somehow it doesn’t feel like he’s won. Maybe because Kuroo looks _hurt_ , looks angry, looks conflicted, looks a whole mess of emotions that Daichi isn’t quite able to decipher.

“You’re still young, Sawamura-kun,” Kuroo breathes finally. “You may think you want me, but I assure you, you’re not going to like what you find.”

Daichi crosses his arms. “That’s not for you to decide.”

“Yeah?” Taking another step closer, Kuroo seizes Daichi’s arm to yank him in close. “What would you have me do? Last night you were flirting with some bastard who had his hands all over you—and then you had the gall to look so disappointed in me afterwards. Did you want me to go over there and physically rip you from his arms? Should I have marked you up right then and there for the whole damn world to see? I wanted to, you know.”

Blood is roaring in Daichi’s ears as he swallows, his breath leaving him shakily as he stares right back into Kuroo’s eyes, refusing to give in. “Then why didn’t you?”

“Wh—”

“Why didn’t you?” Daichi demands, ripping his arm out of Kuroo’s hand. His heart is pounding in his chest, anger swirling like cement in his belly, _want_ flooding every crevice of his being, and he reaches out to push Kuroo away, hard enough that it makes Kuroo take an incredulous step back. “Do it, then. Mark me. Take me.”

More than anything Kuroo looks almost scared, eyes wide with worry as he says, “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“Bullshit. I’m not some brainless youth that you picked off the street.” Daichi tips his chin up haughtily, meets Kuroo’s eyes without a shred of doubt. “Do you want to fuck me, Kuroo-san?”

He can pinpoint the second that Kuroo makes up his mind, because all of a sudden Kuroo is stalking forward and placing one palm on the centre of Daichi’s chest to shove him against the wall, hard—his back hits the wall with a _thump_ , and then he’s being devoured. Kuroo kisses him with a fervour that he’s never felt before, a desperation that makes Daichi feel like he’s being crushed, and though he tries to kiss back, relief floods his entire body to the point where he can’t help but whimper when Kuroo’s tongue flicks against the back of his teeth.

“I want to fuck you,” Kuroo growls, biting down on Daichi’s bottom lip. “I’m going to ruin you, Sawamura-kun.”

“D-do it.” It’s a command and a plea all at once. “C’mon, Kuroo-san. Make a mess of me.”

Not needing to be told twice, Kuroo bends and hauls Daichi up by the backs of his thighs, marching them both into the bedroom. Even though Kuroo’s been rough in the bedroom before, this is different—he drops Daichi onto the bed hard enough that Daichi bounces on the mattress, splaying out in Kuroo’s oversized clothes, breath ragged and eyelids heavy with lust.

“Clothes off,” Kuroo says, narrowing his eyes. It sends shivers down Daichi’s spine as he rises to comply, shedding the shirt and soft sleep pants and letting them fall to the floor. He’s already hard, sitting back on his haunches with his legs spread, naked and vulnerable in front of Kuroo’s eyes as they rake over Daichi’s figure in quiet worship. 

It’s the last moment of reprise that Daichi gets before Kuroo is climbing onto the bed, tearing his shirt off over his head before he’s yanking Daichi towards him, palming Daichi’s cock and swallowing the gasp that escapes Daichi’s lips.

There’s nothing to hide behind this time—no sweet words or teasing smirks, just the kind of desire that leaves Daichi’s skin sizzling under Kuroo’s touch, that has Daichi’s spine arching off the bed when Kuroo twists his wrist roughly and teases the reddened tip with his thumb. 

“Nn—Kuroo-san,” Daichi pants, fumbling to get his hands on Kuroo as well, but then Kuroo is seizing his wrist and pinning it to the bed, fixing Daichi with a glare.

“ _Stay_.” The authority in Kuroo’s voice goes straight to Daichi’s cock—he swears Kuroo can feel it twitch in his hands because the corner of his lips quirk with bemusement. He briefly pauses to lean over Daichi and yank the nightstand drawer open, fumbling for lube and a strip of condoms before coming right back and dipping his head low to suck a dark bruise into Daichi’s collarbone, and then another on his chest, and then one more for good measure. “Get on your hands and knees.”

Daichi scrambles to acquiesce, his thighs shaking against the soft sheets as he arches his back, raising his ass as if he were presenting himself to Kuroo. The vulnerability of this position makes his heart race, makes his cock drip onto the bedding, but it’s all worth it when Kuroo hums in approval behind him. This is what he’s wanted all this time, Daichi reminds himself—for Kuroo to want him, to tell him what to do, to own him—but he still can’t help but tremble when he feels Kuroo place his hands on each of his cheeks and spread him wide.

“Pretty pink hole,” Kuroo murmurs, “so ready for me, baby.”

A rattled moan tumbles from Daichi’s lips when Kuroo leans in to lick a fat stripe up from Daichi’s perineum, tongue laving the tight ring muscle with such obscene sounds that it makes Daichi’s face burn. Kuroo pulls back to spit on Daichi’s hole—and _why on earth_ is that so hot, _fuck_ —before hooking both thumbs in his rim and stretching it apart.

He licks into Daichi’s hole, stiffens his tongue to push inside of Daichi and then press in even deeper still, ravaging him until Daichi feels well and truly loose—used, and filthy, and he’s shaking from head to toe by the time he hears the snap of hard plastic when Kuroo goes to thrust his cold, lube-covered fingers inside.

“Ah! _Hnn_ , fuck, Kuroo-san, more—” The string of mishmashed words tumbling from Daichi’s mouth is muffled into the crook of his elbow, tears beading at the corner of his eyes as Kuroo curls his fingers to press against the spot that has Daichi seeing white. “O-oh, fuck— _yes_ —right th-there!”

And then Kuroo is doing it again, and again, and Daichi’s legs finally give out from under him as he comes, shaking, trembling, falling, until he’s a mess of nerves curled up on the bed, a thin sheen of sweat covering his skin.

It takes a few minutes for Daichi to come back to himself. He vaguely discerns the sound of Kuroo stepping away for a few moments, and when he returns, he rolls Daichi onto his back and presses tender, mint-flavoured kisses to Daichi’s sweaty forehead.

“You did so good for me, sweetheart,” he coos, pushing Daichi’s bangs out of the way, crawling onto the bed and pulling Daichi up by his arm. Daichi feels like jelly, feels boneless and melted and so ready to take more, so he presses forward and asks for a kiss, to which Kuroo complies. Kuroo’s tongue is velvet against his own, and they kiss until Daichi’s lips are bitten and bright red and he shivers when Kuroo’s hands finally drift back to his abused hole. “You ready to take me here, baby?”

He is. He’s been ready for ages, long before tonight, and Daichi nods, wriggling his hips. Kuroo’s fingers slip in easily after his earlier prep, the squelching noise of lube against his fingers making Daichi’s cheeks flare as he moans, toes curling when Kuroo presses against his prostate.

There’s a thin line between feeling wrecked and overstimulated—Daichi doesn’t know where he falls right now, but he knows exactly where he’s heading.

“Get on top of me,” Kuroo says, leaning back, and though Daichi does as he says, the snark that bubbles to the surface is something that simply can’t be helped.

“I thought you were going to fuck me?” He raises a brow, positioning himself so that Kuroo’s cock slides between his asscheeks. Being on top of Kuroo feels right—he loves the way he can see Kuroo’s face change, the way his eyes narrow and his mouth slashes up into a smirk as his fingers dig into Daichi’s waist hard enough to bruise. 

“All in good time, sweetheart. Gotta make you earn it first.”

Daichi waits impatiently for Kuroo to roll a condom on and coat it with more lube, his heart hammering in his chest when he raises himself up, lining his hole with Kuroo’s cockhead before sitting down and slowly taking it inch by inch. It’s been months since he’s last bottomed, and the stretch is delicious like none other—tight, hot, and most of all finally, finally _full_.

“Oh, _fuck_ —” Kuroo grunts from underneath him, teeth gritting together as he watches Daichi swallow him whole. “Yeah, just like that. God, you’re so fucking tight—”

It feels like his breath has been punched of out him—Daichi’s mouth drops open in a silent moan, finally sheathing himself fully onto Kuroo’s dick, and it’s so much, so deep, and when he rolls his hips experimentally, Kuroo’s cock is already perfectly sliding against his prostate.

Well, if for nothing else—Daichi has always known that they’re perfectly matched for _this_. 

Urged on by Kuroo’s insistent hands, Daichi starts to move. He rocks downwards on Kuroo’s cock, grinds himself against the spot where he wants it most, pitchy gasps falling one by one from his kiss bitten lips. His own stiff cock bobs against his belly with each movement, leaking pre-cum from the flushed tip, but Daichi knows that Kuroo won’t allow him to touch himself. It’s fine this way, because Kuroo thrusts upwards to meet him halfway and the resulting fireworks behind his eyelids makes him inclined to believe that he’ll get there even without the extra help.

“Look at you,” Kuroo grunts, eyes fixated on the way Daichi is riding him so desperately, “so mouthy earlier and now you’re crying while bouncing on my cock. Feel good?”

“Y-yes! Feels—hnn… feels so g-good.” They’re both way past the point of shame, especially when Daichi is covered in bite marks and reddening bruises in the shape of Kuroo’s fingertips and all he can think about is how he wants to be marked even _more_. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room. Everything burns—his ass, his thighs, his lungs, and Daichi feels absolutely electrified, hanging right on the edge of wrecked and quickly tumbling into the territory of overstimulation.

But he loves it—loves this. Wants Kuroo to wreck him harder.

 _How’s that for being greedy, Kuroo-san?_ Daichi thinks, smirking down at Kuroo as he gyrates his hips to force a hiss from between Kuroo’s teeth. He feels absolutely insatiable right now, taking and taking, as much as Kuroo will give him, and as much as he’s able to get.

Suddenly, without warning Kuroo is surging up and pushing Daichi onto his back and then thrusting in again just as quickly, the sudden movement making Daichi sob with desperation.

“M-more,” he says, tears rolling down his cheeks. Kuroo shushes him, wipes his tears with his thumb, and rolls his hips with infuriating control. “Please, Kuroo-san— _ah_! Harder, more, I want it—want you—”

“You’ll take what I give you.” The smirk on Kuroo’s face makes Daichi want to fight back, but all the fight has been long fucked out of him, first by Kuroo’s tongue, and then by his cock. He sobs, nodding wordlessly as Kuroo flicks each of his dusky nipples with his thumbs, still thrusting in slow, controlled movements. “And then when I fuck you properly, you’ll ask permission to come, won’t you?”

“Yes,” Daichi gasps, wriggling his hips and whining when Kuroo smacks his thigh. “Yes, please, anything.”

Kuroo smiles, spiced honey dripping from his lips, sunlight glinting off his golden eyes and oh, Daichi falls. God, he falls. The tears come faster then, because Kuroo is beautiful and Daichi wants him, he wants him so much that he quakes under the weight of his desire, under the flecks of auburn in Kuroo’s eyes, and the freckle shaped like Saturn on Kuroo’s left wrist. And yet, oblivious to it all, Kuroo leans in, presses his lips to Daichi’s cheek, and murmurs, “good boy.”

When Kuroo fucks into him, thrusting all the way to the hilt again, and again, palming at Daichi’s reddened skin, between his moans Daichi is peering up at Kuroo through bleary eyes, trying to memorize the way his bangs are falling over his face and the way his brows furrow in pleasure as he pants for breath through his parted lips. When Kuroo turns him over and slaps his ass and fucks him at such a brutal pace that Daichi begs for permission to come, he’s thinking about how he and Kuroo never made good on the promise to go back to the cat cafe to meet the orange tabby with its pink toes pressed against the window.

Every single nerve ending in his body feels set alight. Daichi sobs, asks Kuroo to please, please let him come, he’s been so good—wants to come so bad, and it all hits him like a tidal wave the minute Kuroo tells him _yes_.

“You love this, don’t you?” Kuroo pants, placing a hand between Daichi’s shoulder blades and pressing him into the bed. “C’mon then, come on my cock, sweetheart.”

Daichi can barely make a sound by the time he falls apart under Kuroo’s touch.

He commits it all to memory—the way Kuroo feels in him when he clenches through his orgasm, and the face Kuroo makes when he follows Daichi over the peak. The way the setting sunlight pours over Kuroo’s skin as they lie side by side, catching their breaths before they inevitably reach for each other again. All the things Kuroo whispers to him as he rocks into him for the second time, some teasing, some adoring, and some downright filthy. 

By the time Daichi comes for the third time that evening, he’s hard-pressed to think about anything other than how much he loves Kuroo’s smile when he’s too tired to bother sharpening it.

They shower, and then Daichi sucks Kuroo off, rivulets of water running down his toned abdomen, the bathroom tiles digging into his knees. When they finally emerge, hair damp and both smelling like Kuroo’s shampoo, they order pizza and finish the movie that Daichi had paused halfway through earlier that day.

For the first time, it’s Kuroo who falls asleep first, head pillowed against the back cushion, his long lashes fanned out over his cheeks, his chest rising and falling peacefully. It makes for such a serene picture that Daichi allows himself the simple pleasure of drinking it all in for a quiet moment, admiring the moving colours from the television screen dancing across Kuroo’s cheekbones.

Then Daichi stands, gets dressed, and collects his things that he hadn’t even realized had built up in Kuroo’s apartment over the past few months—an assortment of pens and pencils he’d left behind after doing his assignments, a few shirts folded and placed in the spare bedroom drawer, the toothbrush that he’d just opened, and the bottle of pocari that he’d forgotten to take with him awhile back, still in the fridge.

He makes his way back to where Kuroo has now slumped over horizontally on the couch, curled up on his side like a giant house cat, and with a fond smile, pulls a blanket over his sleeping figure.

“Sorry for being so selfish, Kuroo-san,” Daichi whispers, leaning down to kiss Kuroo on the cheek. “This is the last time."

He leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello i've been in bed with a kidney infection for the past two weeks but at least it gave me time to write gratuitous sugar daddy boning. enjoy! uhhhhh hh sorry it took like 4 months. see you in october i guess hah aa ha a ha


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